Heart's Desire
by JennWithAPenn
Summary: Anne and Gilbert's engagement with a twist: instead of teaching in Summerside, Anne follows Gil to Kingsport. What will their three-year engagement be like? How do they deal with their increasing longing and desire for each other, when they are away from Avonlea and left to make their own decisions? Windy Poplars revamped, with much more Gilbert, and more of Anne's infamous antics.
1. Good and Proper

_AN: Let's be honest. Anne of Windy Poplars had a glaring lack of Gilbert. We didn't get the bits of romance we were hoping for, besides the promise of letters written with "exactly the right type of pen." So then… I am going to explore what their relationship was like as an engaged couple, but with a twist: What would have happened if Anne and Gilbert didn't spend their engagement apart, but instead she followed him to teach in Kingsport, rather than Summerside? What was their relationship like during that period, and more specifically, how do they deal with their increasing longing and desire for each other, when they're alone, away from Avonlea and left to make their own decisions? I'll be delving into this, and I'll also give insight into other aspects of Anne's life... for it is the things that make Anne, well_—Anne,_ that make us love her, and make us want Gilbert to love her._

_This story follows naturally after Say Something and Around the Bend (you can find them on my profile), and is the third in that series... although it can be read just fine on its own. If you have not read the other two stories, this first chapter should catch you up with key differences between my AU and Maud's canon __(although I won't lie that a few plot twists will be spoiled, if you decide to read those first two stories later on)__. I hope you enjoy!_

**Heart's Desire**

**Rated T**—**for suggestive adult themes (as I mentioned, we're not in Avonlea anymore, folks).**

**Chapter 1: Good and Proper**

"What a summer we've had, Gilbert! To think that this shall be our last evening walk together round flecked, gangly birch groves and little bits of misty wood. The sun which sets tonight seems to also set on this glorious chapter—the birth of our love."

"You make it sound like a sheer poem—nothing but loveliness throughout."

"N-o-o. Of course not. It certainly started as a right chaotic mess!"

"I do apologize for that," Gilbert grinned.

"I'm sure," Anne replied sarcastically as she brought her fingers absentmindedly to her lips, remembering the kiss Gilbert had lain upon them that last day of April—when he had told her, with far more than words, how he felt about her imminent engagement to Roy Gardner.

"I like to think that this summer has contained both the best and worst moments of my life. Oh Gil, when you were abed with the fever, and especially that _one_ night before the turn, when I thought..." Anne paused here, with a glazed, far-off look in her eyes, remembering that dreadful moment when she had watched through the blur of her tears to see whether Gilbert's chest still rose and fell in turn; she remembered the morning after that longest of nights, when she had been afraid to look upon his face, lest she see that _he_ had gone from it. Gilbert took Anne's hand into his own and squeezed it lightly, sensing the direction of her thoughts and reminding her that he was _here_, right next to her. Anne's eyes cleared and she looked over at him.

"Yet you agreed that you cannot wholly regret it," he reminded her.

Anne shook her head. "As I said, it brought us closer together."

Gilbert looked off into the distance as he, too, thought back to those dreadful weeks of pain; he remembered the confusion and doubt the fever had created, but also the way Anne had stayed tirelessly by his side despite the things he had said—the delusions he had believed. He remembered how she had sung to him, and cried into his side, and laid herself bare as she said the things she might never again get the chance to say. "Yes, it did," he agreed, as he pulled his gaze away from the horizon and turned to look upon Anne.

It had been nearly four months since he had asked her to be his wife, yet every time he looked upon her—saw the blush that tinged her cheeks when he gazed at her, or saw her dainty hand clasped within his own—he still could not believe that she was finally his.

"And the _best_ moment?" he asked softly. Anne needed only a second to answer.

"When I realized you were going to live. When I kissed that miraculously wet forehead and knew it would not be the last time I would press my lips to it." She stopped mid-stride and leaned in, planting a kiss upon the very spot. Then she pulled lightly on his hand and they resumed their walk.

"And now we shall trade these dusty dirt roads for cobbled streets, and our towering spruces for sharp edges of steel and glass," said Gilbert in mock dreaminess.

"Even Redmond has its sightly little harbor, and an undiscovered natural haven or two, waiting for us to seek it out."

"And we shall, Anne-girl, when you join me a week from now." Anne smiled at this prospect. Gilbert was leaving for Redmond the next morning—this would give him a few days to settle into his new lodgings and prepare for the start of term on Monday. Anne would take another week to get her affairs in order, before making the trip to Kingsport herself.

"And to think, I should have been leaving for Summerside in a few days!" Anne exclaimed. Then, suddenly remembering something, she continued, "I received a very rude response the other day, to my declination. Did I mention it? Now then, I'm fully aware that it wasn't entirely good of me to go back on my promise to take the position. But I should have cried for the hurtful language within it! She—the board representative, I mean—called me a fool for passing up the prestigious opportunities that _they_ could have afforded _me, _and told me she was glad my character has now been revealed, before it was too late. That isn't the worst of what she said but I'd rather not mention the rest now. It was sent by some woman with the last name of _Pringle._"

"Sounds pretentious," mused Gilbert.

"Well I'm all the more glad because of it. I'd much rather teach in the slums of Patterson Street, with desolate little ones who _need_ me, than the fanciest of high schools where folk find it reasonable to address a stranger in such a way."

"I certainly think you'll have a way with the children round Patterson," said Gilbert admiringly. "The most desolate of all God's creatures are the ones that need love the most, don't you think? And you have just the right mix of kindness and discipline to give it to them."

By this time, Anne and Gilbert had reached Green Gables. They strolled slowly through the garden and around to the back door.

"I'm glad you're coming with me, Anne," Gilbert said, as he took her hands in his. "To think that I shall see you in a week's time, as opposed to three months... "

"It does seem a much better plan, doesn't it?" Anne laughed. "Indeed, Summerside would not have done at all. Now, shall you come in for a minute, or is this where I leave you?"

"Only for a minute, to bid farewell to Marilla and Mrs. Lynde."

Satisfied with this response—for she didn't wish to part from him just yet—and thinking it was very sweet of Gilbert to feel the need to bid farewell to the ladies of the house, Anne turned and reached for the door handle. Gilbert, however, grasped her hand and pulled her back.

"This may be the last moment I have you to myself," he suggested, as he drew her close to him. "So if you don't mind, I think I'll kiss you goodbye _now_, away from prying eyes and where I can do it good and proper."

"Good and proper?" Anne said with raised eyebrows and a face flushed with anticipation. She glanced sideways, relieved that they could not quite be seen from the lighted kitchen windows.

"Mmhmm," was all he replied. Apparently, when Gilbert said "good and proper," he meant it. He wrapped her up in his arms and kissed her intently. Anne brought her hands around his neck, grazing the short hairs on the back of his head with her fingertips. She felt Gilbert take a step forwards as he moved her with him, and pressed her gently up against the door.

Little did they know Mrs. Lynde was already reaching for the handle on the other side, empty laundry basket in tow, in order to remove the towels that were hanging out on the line.

… … …

"Recent events have brought me to realize that the two of you need a bit of an, _education,_" said Mrs. Lynde, not five minutes later, in the living room of Green Gables.

"Sit down, Anne. You too, Gilbert… no, not _there..._ in the armchair." Gilbert raised his eyebrows at Anne as he crossed over to the chair in question, which also happened to be the farthest piece of furniture in the room as compared to the sofa on which Anne was perched.

Anne folded her arms across her chest as she leaned into the seatback. She might have given Gilbert a playful look but she did not, so embarrassed she still was over practically falling into Mrs. Lynde, as the woman had opened the kitchen door only minutes before. She had been so wrapped up in Gilbert that she hadn't noticed the click of the handle being turned, and Mrs. Lynde had gotten a front row seat to what was otherwise supposed to be a very private moment.

"Oh good, Marilla, there you are. I hope I didn't alarm you when I barged into the study, but given the details I just related to you, and given that Gilbert is leaving tomorrow, you'll agree this is a matter of some urgency."

Marilla sighed as she leaned an elbow on the piano opposite Anne. She supposed there was some truth in Rachel's words. When Marilla had heard of Anne's plan to join Gilbert in Kingsport, of course she was a bit disappointed that she had turned down the job in Summerside. To think that Anne would pass up a prestigious position at a highly reputed high school, to work in a slum! But it attested to how much she loved the boy, and Marilla could not fault her for that. Their plan had been sound and well thought out. Anne could save money by boarding with Philippa Blake, and perhaps find another principalship a year from now, in a _better_ part of town. Yet Marilla also wasn't sure she liked the idea of Anne being essentially alone with Gilbert in Kingsport, even if he was to be very busy with his studies. They would be off on their own, away from quiet old Avonlea, and together often. Marilla had limited experience with the passions of love but she had heard stories, and if anyone was known to give into passions, it was Anne. Yet she had raised the girl with strong moral values, and Gilbert was a level-headed lad, even if Anne might be considered a weakness of his. Nevertheless, perhaps a short discussion was in order—though she was happy to let Rachel do the talking.

"—I've often considered whether someone ought to have a _good__ and __proper _conversation with Anne and Gilbert," Mrs. Lynde had been saying, "and now I see there is not a moment to be lost. Do you not agree, Marilla?" Marilla looked from Rachel's stern face to Anne's mortified one, and then to Gilbert, who was calm and collected.

"I suppose you may be right, Rachel. Though do cut with the dramatics and get to the point."

"Right then," Mrs. Lynde said, wiping her hands on her dress and beginning to pace around the room.

"You have a long engagement ahead of you… _three years,_" Mrs. Lynde said gravely, as if this was new and shocking news. "Now I've never quite held with the _ardor _and _passion _you see among young people nowadays. In my day, we showed a little more restraint. A quiet sense of fondness and admiration goes a long way, and don't you forget it. That being said, I've always spoken to Marilla of a bond between the two of you, and now I realize things are more serious than I thought. I pity you—to be so attracted to each other is such a curse."

She looked grimly at Anne, who was blushing bright red and wishing she might become one with the couch cushions. To have to bear this talk—this talk!—from Mrs. Lynde was beyond humiliating. If only Mrs. Lynde had the decency to wait until Gilbert was out of the house, then it would have at least been bearable!… Anne looked over at Gilbert, who was staring at Mrs. Lynde somberly and nodding his agreement. Oh, the _nerve_ of him… having a bit of fun at a time like this!

"And so it is only fitting that I talk to you about _lust._"

Anne gave a start at the word, and also at the frankness with which Mrs. Lynde had spoken it.

"Mrs. Lynde, I can assure you this is quite unnecess—"

"But I assure you it is necessary, Anne. Do an old woman a favor and let me have my say. Are you familiar with 1 Thessalonians?" Mrs. Lynde asked seriously. Anne and Gilbert both nodded quietly. "_For this is the will of God… that ye should abstain from _fornication_,"_ Mrs. Lynde emphasized this word, "_that every one of you should know how to possess his vessel in sanctification and honor—_"

"_Not in the lust of concupiscence, even as the Gentiles which know not God,_"* Gilbert finished for her. Anne looked at him and raised her eyebrows, surprised. "We were made to memorize that one in Sunday School," he said with a shrug.

"And for good reason!" Mrs. Lynde exclaimed. "Surely that was Mr. Allan's design. Mr. Bentley always selected the most irrelevant passages, not to mention the way he drawled on—"

"To the point, _Rachel,_" Marilla interrupted from the piano.

"Yes, the point. Now the good Lord meant to keep us pure and holy, but after The Fall, the devil had his way and now we must bare the cross of desire. Our only hope is to give up our burden of longing to the Lord..." Anne rested her elbows on her knees and put her face in her hands as Mrs. Lynde drawled on. She then straightened up and threw Gilbert an apologetic look. He raised his eyebrows as if to say he was sharing in her discomfort, then grinned at her, before continuing to stare solemnly up at Mrs. Lynde.

"Now, this will likely be news to you, seeing as your engagement is still rather new. And certainly if you _did_ understand what I am about to tell you, you would be more careful. And so I feel it is my duty to inform you that as the months go by, your longing for each other will only grow. It is best not to feed this desire. It is as a small sapling newly planted—give it a bit of water, and it will only grow, and want more, and more."

"Yet do not water it at all, and it will die," Gilbert countered plainly. Anne's eyes widened at his remark. She shook her head and shot him a pointed glare. He shrugged his shoulders innocently, although she could tell he was trying not to laugh. She had to admit, it was a very clever point, and the look that had entered into Mrs. Lynde's face as a result was quite amusing.

"Well then, ye-es," she said slowly. Mrs. Lynde did not possess the wits of Gilbert, and so her discomfort was clear as she regrouped her efforts. "Might I suggest more innocent displays, Gilbert. A bouquet of flowers, perhaps a small gift every now and then, or a small peck on the cheek…"

"I believe what Mrs. Lynde is trying to say," interjected Marilla, unable to bear her friend's antics any longer, "is that you must be wary. There are challenges ahead of you. You must consider what is proper and refrain from what is not, and pray that God might help you distinguish between the two."

"Precisely," agreed Mrs. Lynde. "I'll be honest in saying, Anne, that I think it would be better of you to go to Summerside. You would be away from Gilbert, which would make the job all-the-more easy."

"But she is _not_ going to Summerside, Rachel, and so it is of unimportance," Marilla said frankly.

"Well she hasn't moved anywhere just yet..." Mrs. Lynde countered, turning to face Marilla. Gilbert used this opportunity to look over at Anne.

"_I'm sorry," _mouthed Anne, who was humiliated that Gilbert should have to endure such a display. Gilbert waved away her apology as if to say it was nothing. Then he winked at her and raised his eyebrows again. Anne rolled her eyes and glared at him. Next Gilbert licked his lips teasingly, and suddenly a reel of laughter bubbled from Anne's throat; she disguised it as a violent cough and thumped her fist against her chest.

"Is something the matter, Anne?" asked Mrs. Lynde in response to Anne's display.

"Oh, its... nothing," Anne gasped. "Just a little cough, perhaps I should get a sip of water..." she suggested, hoping for any excuse to leave the room.

"No need for you to get up... Marilla can fetch it," insisted Mrs. Lynde. Marilla was more than glad to oblige—Mrs. Lynde's lecture was positively painful and she, too, wanted no more part of it.

"Now then," Mrs. Lynde continued after Marilla had gone. "Both your purity and reputation are at stake here, Anne, and I simply mean to make you aware of the battle you are up against. It is best not to give in to your urges, for desire breeds desire, and the farther down the road you find yourselves, the more difficult it is to turn back."

_Would this never end? _It seemed the worst sort of torture—worse even than when Mr. Phillips had made her sit next to a certain someone for the entire afternoon, as punishment for arriving late after lunch. The memory caused her to look over at the boy in question—the situation they found themselves in now was certainly quite different from the one of years ago, although none-the-less awkward.

"There is something between the two of you—only Providence knows how it came to be—that makes me suspect it will be a battle fought all-the-harder, but it will also be all-the-more satisfying when, at long last, you are finally able to—"

"Thank you, Rachel. I believe your point has been made," interrupted Marilla, as she returned with a glass of water and crossed over to Anne. Anne, who was glad for any reason to divert her attention from the thick atmosphere in the room, immediately seized the water and started gulping it intently.

"Well then, I suppose that is all," Mrs. Lynde concluded. "I have had my say and will leave it to the two of you, and the good Lord, may he grant you restraint."

… … …

Mrs. Lynde's "good and proper" talk left Anne feeling positively mortified, and she insisted on accompanying Gilbert outside to bid farewell—she certainly couldn't part from him on _that _note. She stood with him at the gate, well-aware that Mrs. Lynde's keen eyes were staring at them from some window or other.

"Well that was… pleasant," said Gilbert.

"Oh Gil, I'm so sorry! I am most embarrassed… I could strangle Mrs. Lynde..."

"Now that seems a bit harsh, Anne," Gilbert joked, as he took her hand in his. "I didn't mind, it was amusing to say the least."

"Well if Mrs. Lynde is one thing, it's amusing," Anne said with a sigh. Gilbert laughed and nodded his agreement. Anne stood quietly for a moment, in contemplation.

"Gilbert?" she asked tentatively. "Do you think that Mrs. Lynde was right? Do you think that we aren't being careful enough?" He half expected her to drop her gaze to the ground, embarrassed, yet she looked right at him with those captivating gray-green eyes.

"Well… I don't think so," he said slowly, letting go of her hand and bringing his thumb to her chin. "Do you?"

Anne thought this over. "I'm not sure…" she said uneasily. "Mrs. Lynde certainly seemed to think so."

"And since when was she the embodiment of wisdom?"

"True," Anne agreed with a small laugh. "I suppose the problem is, I just don't know how to know."

"Hmmm," Gilbert said thoughtfully. "Well, do you feel ashamed, when I kiss you… the way I did tonight?"

"No-o," Anne replied. The thought of feeling ashamed seemed positively silly.

"I certainly don't," Gilbert replied, as he leaned in and gave her a soft peck on the lips.

"I suppose I just worry... about wanting more," Anne admitted. "She's right, about _that_ part, you know." Gilbert did know. He knew it to his very core, every time he drew close to her. He knew it in the way his heart seemed to beat a little quicker and the hairs on his arm seemed to stand on end. "And eventually, _more_ will be out of the question. But it's such an awful long time…"

"I know," he said quietly. "I suppose the best way to go about it is to take it day by day, and promise each other to be honest about it. You'll tell me if I ever make you uncomfortable, won't you, my love?"

"Well that's the trouble, isn't it? Sometimes I think you could never make me uncomfortable."

Gilbert smiled at this confession. He certainly used to make Anne feel _very_ uncomfortable, in their Redmond days. He knew this was no longer the case, yet hearing Anne say it filled him with joy. Finally she was _his; _finally she loved him the way he had always dreamed she would. He brought his lips to hers once more.

"Gilbert…" Anne said as she pulled away a second later and stared right into his hazel eyes, "I should call you crazy, if you think Mrs. Lynde isn't watching us from the house."

"It doesn't bother me," Gilbert said. "But if it will save you another lecture when you return inside…"

"It will," she laughed.

"Then I'll save it for Redmond." He kissed her once more, yet this time on the hand. Then he bid her farewell and made his way back up the lane.

* * *

><p><em>*Taken from 1 Thessalonians 4:3-5, KJV<em>

**AN: Thank you so much for reading, and a special thanks to those of you who have followed me here from Say Something and Around the Bend. You have no idea what it means. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting so long, but here we are!**

_I'm here to have fun, but I'm also here to become a better writer. I'm not a fan of flames (who is?) but I love a bit of honest, well-meant feedback, so please give it! Also, most of my previous writing has been done in third person limited point of view (only one character's head at a time), although as you can see, I'm playing around with third person omniscient, which Maud uses, and which I find to be a bit more difficult. I'm not sure if I'll write the whole story this way, or if I'll end up finding a middle-ground between the two. Please let me know if anything seems unclear to you!_

_Last note, I promise: I update my stories *around* once a week. I'll try to update my profile if I ever find that it is taking a fair bit longer than that. Much love to you all and thanks for reading! -J_


	2. Hallow's End

**Chapter 2: Hallow's End**

Hallow's End was a smallish sort of manse, set at the end of Patterson Street where it met with Attley Crossing. Anne, who had wondered what sort of dwelling a minister in the poorest area of Kingsport might be afforded, had been pleased to see that it was actually a decent looking little thing, much more spacious and suitable than the dilapidated rows around it, yet not so well-looking as to stand out uncomfortably from its surroundings. It was a two story building made of gray sandstone, with two tiny windows still above, which belonged to the garret. The surrounding garden was small and rather unkempt—Anne had immediately made a mental note to remedy that as soon as possible—and a small graveyard separated it from the church beyond.

Hallow's End certainly didn't have the country charm of Green Gables or the organic whimsy of Patty's Place, but Anne, who always made the most of everything, felt it would be quite a pleasant place to live, for the time being. Philippa had explained in her letters that Hallow's End had been in quite a state of disrepair when she and Jonas first moved in; the previous minister had been as old as the walls themselves, had lived alone, and had not bothered with, or perhaps not noticed at all, the needed upkeep. "_Now you mustn't think badly of me if you find it not quite to your standards when you first look upon it," _Phillipa had written, "_for if you had only seen what it was like when we arrived, you would agree that the old place is mountains nicer than it was before I had my way with it."_

When Anne did finally see the place for herself, she couldn't help but notice remnants of the old minister's neglect. Outside the house, a few of the shutters hung crookedly from their windows. In the living room the curtains, which must have one day been a magnificent shade of crimson, were faded, and bits of wallpaper were peeling up near the ceiling. In the kitchen, a thin block of wood had been wedged under one of the legs of the stove to keep it from wobbling, and there was a dark crescent-shaped stain on the wood floors by the pantry. Yet the place looked clean by all appearances, and Phil showed Anne through the house as if she were giving a grand-tour of a castle in Spain.

She revelled in her new position as matron of her own house—one that she shared with her husband. She practically sang as she showed Anne "_Jo's study" _and "_our garden"_ and "_our hearth"_ and the little copper flowerpot that "_Jo brought home."_ Anne adored seeing Phil so happy, even if it caused a distinct sense of longing in her own heart. The state of the house was lost in the joy of the bouncing, smiling bride within. Anne felt she might like Hallow's End almost as much as Patty's Place.

And so it was with great relief that she showed the manse to Gilbert for the first time. He had not been able to collect her from the station upon her arrival Thursday afternoon, as he had been tied up in his medical classes. But his Friday schedule was rather lighter than the other days, and so he had fairly run the entire mile and a half to Patterson Street as soon as his professor had adjourned his histology laboratory.

As Anne opened the door, it had been so refreshing to see his roguish smile and disheveled hair—he had been walking at a rather fast pace, after all—awaiting her on the other side. He had wrapped her up in his familiar embrace, and Anne was once again certain Summerside wouldn't have done at all. Phil and Jonas had gone into the main part of town to visit the grocer, and so the responsibility of a tour of the house fell entirely on Anne's shoulders.

"It's not the _nicest_ place I've ever seen," admitted Anne as she led him by the hand into the living room, "but somehow it seems quite perfect for Phil. And there is still plenty of time to fix it up."

"We should start by resetting the hinges on those shutters," Gilbert commented, businesslike. "I'm surprised old Jo has neglected them all summer."

"Well now," conceded Anne, "I'll admit I don't take Jonas for a handy fellow."

"And it's likely Phil never even noticed," joked Gilbert. "Or the way that window doesn't shut straight."

"Now don't be snide, Gilbert."

"I'm only teasing, Anne. Even if it _is_ likely to be true. Windows aside, it seems a cozy sort of place. I like this darker shade of wood on the floors and trim. Perhaps we can have wood of this color, in our own house of dreams?"

Hearing Gilbert mention their own future dwelling made Anne grow very warm inside. If only he knew what it meant to hear him say those sorts of things… but she kept her voice from sounding all too dreamy as she replied with a grin, "I'll add that to my running list."

Anne then took him into the kitchen, with its lopsided stove and cluttered rack of low-hanging pots and pans, and next they visited Jonas' study, which was immaculately tidy, and entered into by a door by the kitchen table. There was also a formal parlor, with cornflower blue walls and a red velvet sofa with two matching armchairs. Gilbert pretended to sound interested as Anne showed him the three old yet quaint tea-sets inside the parlor's china cabinet.

At first, Anne was hesitant to show Gilbert the upstairs landing, but he insisted that he at least see the room that she was to call her own for the next year. Though he did not admit it, this was largely due to the fact that he often imagined Anne going about her room, writing in a diary or brushing out her golden-red hair, or perhaps singing to the birds perched on the window ledge; he wanted to at least know what that room looked like, so as to give context to his imaginings. And so Anne led him up the creaky stairs—each ignoring the distinct wobble of the banister—and to the bedrooms.

"Phil let me choose, isn't that sweet of her?" Anne declared, as they reached the top of the stairs. "The west-facing room is a bit bigger and looks out on the street. My room at Thirty-eight, St. Johns faced the street and I loved to watch people walk by and imagine up stories for them. However my room in Green Gables was east-facing and so that always feels like home to me, and that is what I chose. Not to mention I'm more keen on sunrises than sunsets. It overlooks the graveyard on the right, which some people may consider a disadvantage to the view, but somehow I like the mysticism of it all. Perhaps as I sleep I will hear the wail of a mother who died and unwillingly left her children behind, or the eternal laughter of little girls who rise up to dance around the gravestones at night."

"I thought you were afraid of ghosts?" Gilbert questioned, remembering the infamous story of the Haunted Wood, which Anne had recounted to him many times.

"Well now, _that_ is true," Anne admitted, "but so long as they stay in their graveyard and I in my bedroom, I suppose we can be dear friends from afar."

Anne eased the door open and led Gilbert inside the room. It certainly was rather small, but still quite cozy and comfortable. The walls were papered in yellow and white vertical stripes, making the room appear quite bright. Anne had lain one of Mrs. Lynde's apple leaf quilts, all purple, green, and white, across the bed. The washstand, dressing table, and desk were all white, and Anne had already set a fair store of books on a shelf on the wall. On the dressing table she had placed a myriad of photographs and trinkets, among which Gilbert saw the tiny horse he had carved for her, along with a small glass vase with a dried bouquet of flowers that he recognized to be the lilies he had given her for Convocation. He also noticed that a pink enamel heart with a gold chain hung from a hook on the wall. He smiled at this.

Anne then led him to the window where he saw, as Anne had foretold, the graveyard off to the right. It was surrounded by a low stone wall, on top of which was set an iron fence. The rest of the view was taken up by the manse's garden, much of which was quite overgrown. A grove of sugar maples surrounded it, along with several regal pines.

"The manse property goes back a bit farther still," Anne said, pointing to the trees beyond the garden. "It's a tiny oasis in the midst the city, don't you think?"

"It certainly suits you, Anne. I couldn't have as easily seen you living in a terraced house."

"Phil hasn't set to the garden yet," Anne continued, as she saw Gilbert looking down at it. "But I'm glad for it, as you will be quite busy with your courses, and I will need something to occupy my time while I'm not at the school. Just imagine all of those hawthorn shrubs pruned back, as well as the lilacs next to them, and see that bed down there, surrounded by the brick pavers? Phil and I are going to plant marigolds and violets, and we'll put June lilies along the fence and alyssum all along the side of the house. It will be positively heavenly by the spring, just you wait."

"I'm so happy you find the manse to your liking," said Gilbert. "I'll admit I was fearful it would be a dreary place, being on Patterson Street and all. And I couldn't bare for you to be unhappy on my account, after all you've given up for me."

"Gilbert," Anne insisted as she turned away from the windowsill and brought her gaze to his face. "It's not such a big sacrifice as you make it seem, my being here in Kingsport. Don't forget that I wanted this, too. Not to mention the good I can do for the little souls awaiting me Monday morning."

"Well regardless, I'm glad you're here, Anne," Gilbert said tenderly. He leaned in and kissed her softly, and Anne was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that they were still in her bedroom. Gilbert seemed to have made the same realization, for he quickly pulled away and looked back out of the window.

"Shall we take a walk and explore the graveyard?" he suggested. "I think I've overstayed my welcome—what would Phil say if she came home and found me up here?"

Anne laughed and, tugging on his arm, led him back the way they had come.

… … …

Sunday was to be Anne's first visit to church. She had looked forward to the event all weekend, for she was filled with curiosity at the prospect of listening to one of Jonas' sermons. She had never heard him speak before, but according to Phil, what he lacked in looks, he made up in charisma. And that was saying something, for with his unusually long and lanky arms and legs, overly large grin and even larger ears, and his bleach-blonde hair standing painfully apart from his reddish face, there was quite a lot to make up for.

Jonas preferred to arrive at the church at least an hour and a half early to get his notes in order and run through his sermon, as well as pray with any church members who might seek him out before the service. Phil normally arrived about an hour later. However, she was eager to show the church to Anne, and so early Sunday morning the two women accompanied Jonas on the short walk past the graveyard and to the white, steepled building beyond. It looked much the same as any Presbyterian church, longer than it was wide and with windows spaced evenly down its sides. Perhaps the only thing that distinguished it from most churches was that the wooden fence in front needed mending, and the entire building was in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint.

Phil was deprived of the pleasure of giving Anne an in-depth tour of the building, however, because Jonas promptly realized that he had left his sermon notes at the manse. He could not fetch them himself, as he was expecting Mrs. Hughes to arrive any moment for prayer, and so Anne and Phil had gladly offered to run back and collect them. He had also asked if they might grab a pair of boots from the trunk of donations in the garret, as he had just remembered that little Sally Ingram had come barefoot to Sunday School the week before.

And so a few minutes later Anne and Phil had returned to Hallow's End. Jonas' sermon notes had been gathered from the study, and they had pulled down the latch to the garret and lowered the door.

"It has no ladder?" Anne asked, looking up into the dark recesses above.

"Well there _are_ hinges for one, yet nothing attached. Isn't that silly?" Phil laughed. "Yet another thing Jonas and I shall have to fix." She disappeared down the landing and returned with a ladder. They laid it against the door and scrambled up into the garret. Though it was large enough to be a livable space, the previous owner seemed to have used it entirely for storage. Perhaps she could one day help Phil to clean it out.

"We'd better bring up the ladder lest it fall and strand us up here," Phil suggested. And so they pulled it up behind them. The end of the ladder bumped against the spring of the garret door, and it swung shut with a sharp click. Anne gave a small gasp and turned around, looking back at the door in alarm.

"Not to worry, dearie. It has a lever so we can still open it from the inside," Phil assured her.

After lighting a candle, for the light streaming in from the garret windows was far too dim to do the job properly, Phil and Anne found the trunk in question and settled down beside it. Phil started pulling out various garments and tossing them haphazardly on the floor next to her.

"Isn't my Jo just the most thoughtful person?" she said dreamily, as she scooped out a pair of suspenders and tossed them onto the pile.

"It certainly was good of him to notice that the poor dear had no shoes," agreed Anne, with a hint of sadness in her voice at the thought of a child coming to church barefoot.

"Those are the types of things that are far too normal in this part of town. _You'll see..._ on Monday," Phil said knowingly. She dug to the bottom of the trunk. "Ah, here they are."

The garret was soon filled with the clatter dress shoes, sandals, and high heels falling to the floor. Anne tried to keep up with Phil as she sorted through them, finally feeling a sharp _thwack_ on the back of her head—well, she had found the boots.

"Ouch... _Phil!"_

"Oof!" Phil exclaimed. "I am sorry about that. You'll be alright, you've always been rather thick-headed, haven't you?" She gave a wink and kissed the spot that Anne was rubbing gingerly.

"Adding insult to injury… Philippa Blake you are a dear," Anne laughed sarcastically. "Let's take these two pairs, as we don't know what size she will need." She held out the boots in question.

Phil consented to this plan. They repacked the trunk—Anne scolding an unapologetic Phil for making such a mess in the first place—and made their way back to the garret door. Phil pulled on the lever to lower it, only to find that it wouldn't budge.

"It seems to be stuck," Phil complained with a groan, as she tugged on it once more. "I can't budge it for the life of me."

Phil stepped aside and Anne took a turn with the lever. "Have you ever closed the garret door before, while you were up here?" asked Anne tentatively, as she tugged in vain.

"Well, ye-es," Phil responded slowly. "It's always been a wee bit tricky but it's never failed me before. Maybe come at it from the side?"

Anne switched her stance and pulled the lever sharply from the opposite direction. There was a loud snapping noise and the handle broke right off. The next moment she found herself sprawled on the floor, staring in disbelief at the metal piece in her grasp.

"Oh my, well that wasn't supposed to happen!" cried Phil.

"No indeed!" exclaimed Anne.

Phil giggled for a moment before seeing the serious look on Anne's face, and thus realizing the gravity of the situation they now found themselves in. The two women sat in silence for a moment, surveying the door. Anne dropped to her knees and dug her fingers into the crack between the door and the floor, hoping in vain that she might somehow wedge it open.

"We're stuck in here!" moaned Phil, as she sank to the floor as well and buried her face in her hands.

"Well, we shall have to make ourselves comfortable then," reasoned Anne. "Jonas will be back after the sermon, and he can let us out."

"Oh no! The sermon!" gasped Phil. "Poor Jo still doesn't have his notes!"

Anne looked to the pile of papers, sitting on an old dressing table next to the clothing trunk. "Well…" she said slowly, "you've always said Jonas is a gifted speaker. Surely he can manage without them?"

Phil shook her head fervently. "Yes, Jonas may have a wonderful way with words, but sometimes I think he has the world's worst memory. He needs the notes for reference, otherwise he'll be lost as a goose in a snowstorm not two minutes in!"

"Alright… then we'll just need to find a way out," said Anne hopefully, as she began to search around the room. "Say, Phil… do these windows open?" Anne crossed to the tiny windows on the opposite side of the garret. She was disappointed, yet not altogether surprised, to find that the latch on the first window was broken. The second, to her great relief, was not, and she wedged the pane of glass outwards.

"Maybe we can call down to the street, and someone will hear us," Anne suggested. She knew this idea likely posed little success; the house was set a few paces back from the road, and they were three stories up. However, she didn't fancy the idea of being shut up for hours in the garret, and no other idea presented itself to her.

"Invite a stranger into the house?" exclaimed an appalled Phil.

"I'll admit it's not ideal, but do you want poor Jo to get his sermon notes or not?"

"Oh, I suppose," she whimpered. And so the two women waited impatiently for someone to cross in front of the manse. Several people _did_ pass by, but no matter how loudly Anne and Phil wailed, their voices simply did not carry out to the street.

"It's no use," complained Phil, as she plopped herself down on the lid of the clothing trunk. Then she was suddenly struck by an idea. "What about Gilbert? Surely he will be coming by soon?"

"Well, yes he is coming, but I told him to meet us at the church instead," admitted Anne, wishing she had had the sense to take up his offer to meet them at the house. She turned from the window and sat down next to Phil, laying her face on her knees. She felt foolish in that moment—this was just the sort of predicament she used to get herself into when she was young. And she was the one who had broken the lever, even if it was faulty!

The better part of an hour had passed, and still Anne and Phil were no closer to leaving the garret than they had been in the first place.

"Jo must be so worried about us, not to mention his sermon!" wailed Phil for at least the dozenth time. "And he'll make a fool out of himself in front of the congregation."

Anne tried to comfort Phil but in all honesty, she couldn't help but agree. The situation was rather dire. She racked her brain for any idea that had eluded her—some way they might break themselves free. Surely there was something she could do… It was then that her eyes fell on an old tool box, stacked on top of a rickety bookshelf that was being used for storage.

"Perhaps there is a hammer inside that toolbox, Phil? We could try to wedge it into the door and pry it open."

Phil shrugged her shoulders—it was the best plan they had and they might as well try. Anne crossed to the bookshelf and stretched up on the tips of her toes, reaching for the box. The bookshelf was, of course, wobbly, and the box tipped forwards and landed on the floor with a deafening thud. The lid was forced open and a pile of tools clanged together as they spilled out of it.

"You were never one for grace, were you sweetie?" teased Phil, her sense of humor reappearing again in the midst of her exacerbation. Anne merely shrugged at her, as she searched the pile in vain for a hammer.

"No luck," she said, pushing the box away in her annoyance.

"The service will be starting in a few minutes, and we've abandoned poor Jo," Phil sighed. Anne nodded in agreement, finally conceding defeat to the garret.

Not a moment later, they heard the door rattle slightly. Both girls turned and watched in surprise as it was wedged open an inch, revealing a pair of brilliant hazel eyes staring up at them.

"My, you have gotten yourself into quite the predicament this time, haven't you, ladies?" came Gilbert's teasing voice, as the door was lowered further and his full figure was revealed on the landing below.

"Gilbert! Oh, thank heavens!" Anne exclaimed, blinking as though she couldn't believe her eyes. His presence in that moment seemed impossible. "But why ever are you here? I thought you were going to go straight to the church?"

"I did," stated Gilbert. "And I found your poor minister in a right state. Something about sermon notes, and you having been gone an entire hour." Gilbert paused, and Phil gave a small whimper at the thought of Jo's discomfort. "Anyhow, I set off at once to look for you. The door was unlocked, so I let myself in. You were nowhere to be found, of course, and so I was just about to leave when I heard a loud thud from above. Your doing, Anne, I assume?" Gilbert raised his eyebrows at her, a smile playing at his lips.

"Guilty," she said with a shrug, too relieved to be aggravated by his antics.

"I thought so. Now then, would you two like to stay up there all day, or are you going to throw down the ladder?"

"Oh yes, how silly of us. We'd better hurry, Phil." The ladder was procured and once Gilbert had helped each of them safely down it, they scurried out of the house, Phil grasping the sermon notes and running as fast as her legs could carry her. Anne and Gilbert followed at a more manageable pace.

"Taking a leaf out of your old book, are you Anne? Getting stuck in a garret…" Gilbert laughed as he shook his head. "Seems like something you would have done back in your earlier days."

"Indeed, no matter how old I become, I can't quite outgrow the mischief that seems to follow me everywhere. How Marilla will laugh when I tell her the story!" Anne imagined Marilla's face as she read of the tale in a letter, and made a mental note to write her that evening.

They arrived back at the church and settled into the Blake pew just as an abnormally flustered Jonas was beginning to recite his welcome greeting.

"Oh no!" Gilbert heard Anne exclaim from next to him, as the choir hummed the opening notes to 'Be Thou My Vision'. "I've forgotten the boots!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So much love for the first chapter, I am thrilled! Thank you! I'm glad other people are interested in this idea as well, and I'm glad you all enjoy Mrs. Lynde's absurdities as much as I do. I suppose that's why she always wiggles her way into my stories…. Thank you as always for reading :)<strong>


	3. Thirty-Nine Pearls

_AN: Well hello there, folks! I am sorry once again that this is so long in coming… this time it was more due to trying to find direction for Anne's school. A little about me… what first drew me to fanfic was that as a newer writer, you could take someone else's pre-developed characters and settings, and use them to channel your own ideas. Well this is my first experience making original characters, settings and plotlines that are 100% my own. So bear with me during the growing pains, and I should be back to my old pace once this story is on its feet._

**Chapter 3: Thirty-Nine Pearls**

Anne Shirley always met any task she faced with a brave face and a passionate heart. She possessed a sort of determined spirit that thrived in the face of difficult situations. Yet this did not entirely dispel the feeling of nervousness in the pit of her stomach, as the weekend wound to a close and Monday morning approached.

She hadn't known what to expect when she had visited the school for the first time on Saturday with Gilbert, in order to make the necessary preparations. She was surprised to find herself quite impressed with how well the place looked, considering the building had not been used for several years, its state of disrepair aided by the frequent break-ins of mischievous youth. Yet upon seeing the need of the community, Jonas Blake had made it a goal that the church might get the place fully functional by the start of the school year. He and Phil had spent the summer raising what little funds they could from among the members of the church, along with canvassing the town in hopes for small subscriptions where they could find them. With the money raised, they—with the help of church members, for neither of them knew how to do the repairs themselves—had patched up the roof, replaced the building's broken windows, mended the vent in the stove, and welded together various broken desks, afterwards purchasing some additional ones secondhand from the school on Miller Street. Their last project was to fix up the outhouse, the door having somehow disappeared during the years of non use. Phil was very proud of her efforts, calling the project "perhaps the first useful thing I've done in my life."

What they hadn't done, however, was clean the place, and so Anne had spent the majority of the day scrubbing the large room from top to bottom, while Gilbert arranged the heavy desks to her liking. Some of the floorboards were still loose, the levers on the windows were very hard to crank open, and there was a crack running diagonally across the left hand corner of the chalkboard. Yet all else aside, Anne felt the schoolhouse was more than suitable for her needs.

And so it was with equal parts anticipation and unease that she sat in the living room of Hallow's End Sunday evening with Gilbert, Jonas, and Phil, looking for the first time at her student registry.

"Thirty-nine students!" Anne exclaimed, as she peered over the list of names in her lap. "I had never imagined there would be so many!"

Gilbert, who had been sitting next to Anne, his arm draped lazily along the back of the sofa behind her, leaned forward to glance at the list. "Indeed, the length of that list would have given poor Mr. Phillips a heart attack. I don't figure there were more than twenty of us in Avonlea."

"Well, you're not on the Island anymore," said Phil from the opposite side of the room, with an air of superiority. "And little Avonlea is not exactly PEI's largest town, now, is it?"

Anne shrugged her shoulders in agreement. Then she looked once again at the list of names—lines of black ink stacked there, one after the other. Yet they were so much more than marks on a sheet of paper; each was attached to a little body and soul somewhere nearby. There were _so many_ of them!

"And if you think about all those rows of houses up Patterson Street," Phil continued, "they're all divided into apartments. So you can't hardly be surprised. Just imagine the number of families living there."

Anne thought about Patterson street, stretching away from the manse, which was situated down at its very end. Patterson street, with its three and four-storied buildings, and long clotheslines strung from the upper stories, and dirty puffs of smoke coming from chimneys that mustn't have been swept in years. Everything was packed so tightly together. Anne thought how strange it was, that thirty-nine students should come from a few square blocks of city, while hardly over twenty came from Avonlea's dozens of square miles.

"You can't possibly be worried about managing the children?" Gilbert questioned with raised eyebrows, while rubbing Anne's back lightly with his fingertips. "Those poor souls haven't had a proper teacher in years. You'll be a breath of fresh air, Anne. They'll be climbing over each other just to please you." And Gilbert meant what he said. With Anne's cheerful appearance, sweet, soothing voice, and compassionate heart, Gilbert could hardly imagine a child _not_ adoring her.

"Indeed, they _have_ had it rough," Phil agreed. "Why, the teacher at Miller Street threw the nastiest of fits a few years ago about having to take them in, or so I hear."

"But they couldn't possibly have _all_ gone to Miller Street while the school was in disrepair," Anne said. "That would be far too many…"

"Well, n-o-o. It's quite the long walk from here. Many of them just stayed home, can you imagine?" Phil's tone suggested _she_ certainly could not. Anne, however, could imagine. She had stayed home from school more often than not, when she lived with the Hammonds; it had been a long walk down the river to the school, and Mrs. Hammond had preferred she stay home and tend to the children. She assumed the situation on Patterson street was not so different from her own experience.

"The teachers treated them very poorly, and so I think that had something to do with them staying home, as well. Don't you think, Jo?" Phil asked, nudging her husband beside her, whose face was buried in a book of biblical theology.

"Yes, I think that's true. I've heard stories among the congregation," Jo confirmed, peering at them from over the top of his reading spectacles. "Well, we never could get a decent school master here on Patterson. That's partly the reason why the building became neglected in the first place. Anyhow from what I hear, their first schoolma'am at Miller Street, a Mrs. Hayward I believe, made them all sit three-to-a-desk at the back of the room... even the youngest ones still in the first reader. She didn't think them worth her time, and she told the board so. She complained they didn't learn as quickly as the other students. Well after her they had another master, although I don't remember his name, but from what I hear he wasn't any better to them than she was. The current teacher, Miss Moore, seems nice enough, but from what I heard she was making them use all of the second-hand materials and even share slates, and wouldn't let them attend the annual class outing to Redmond."

"Why ever not?" Anne gasped. The obvious answer was as foreign to her as the notion of denying one child the same opportunity as another.

"She probably felt it wasn't worth her time to show them a university campus, given their background," Gilbert mused sadly. Anne felt her hands clench up into tiny fists. If she had it her way, she'd march right up to Miss Moore and give her a piece of her mind—Anne was, after all, very good at telling people what she thought of them.

"Why should our students be denied the opportunities of any other?" she cried. "They may be poor, but they have every ounce of promise as the child of a king!" She felt a sort of fire begin to burn inside her. Who would treat students in such a way? Second hand materials, three-to-a-desk in the back of the room, missed outings to a university campus? Anne suddenly felt anxious for the morning to arrive. There may be thirty-nine students on her list, but every single one of them would end the year with the hope and dream of one day attending Redmond, if she had anything to say about it.

… … …

As Anne stood at the front of the schoolhouse the next morning, in a bright, clean room with windowsills decorated with tiny vases of peonies and a chalkboard adorned with a warm welcome greeting, the fire inside her was still burning. She was no longer nervous; the butterflies in her stomach had flown off in search of some other uneasy host. Rather, she was as eager to meet the children as she was determined to finally give them a teacher who believed in them.

The first person to arrive to the schoolhouse was Mrs. Cassel, who ran the Amelia Cassel orphan asylum not far up the street. She was a high-browed, stern-faced widow, wearing a tight bun of jet black hair with one splendid band of silver running up its front. And looking very small and forlorn at her sides were a dozen orphans, the girls in faded dresses of gray and blue with prim little braids down their backs, the boys in tired shirts of a similar shade, with suspenders hooked neatly into their trousers.

"Off you go," she said simply, while nudging the two children closest to her.

They shuffled quietly into the room and chose seats in the leftmost row. Anne's cheerful greetings were met with only, "Good morning, ma'am," and "pleased to meet you as well." Anne hoped they could not hear the breaking of her heart as she looked upon them—oh, how they looked the very mirror image of herself, when she was eight, nine, ten years old! Those days of her childhood, which had long been outshined by the decade of joy after arriving at Green Gables, came flooding back to her as she looked into their longing eyes; they were the eyes of children who longed to be loved—who wondered if they _could_ be loved, and Anne knew their sorrow all too well.

Mrs. Cassel took several paces forward and stood before Anne, surveying her from top to bottom, very interested to know what type of woman would actually consent to teach in Patterson Street. "My children are very well behaved, Miss Shirley. They're used to sitting quietly and doing as they are told, and so they should pose no problem for you. Please let me know at once if you find that not to be the case."

Anne enthusiastically assured Mrs. Cassel that the children would indeed behave wonderfully and no report would be necessary, and with one last stern—though not unkind—glance at the children, the old lady swept from the room.

Over the next half hour, the rest of the students began to trickle in and take their seats, each one as shy and quiet as the next. Some whispered silent greetings to good chums, while others quietly debated which desk to sit at. A few looked around at the empty desks, then up at Anne apprehensively.

"Sit anywhere you like, dears. This is _your_ classroom. _You _decide where you would like to do your learning."

This evoked a few shrugs and glances from the students, who were not used to such an open invitation to choose any seat—_any seat!_—they liked. Some even required additional encouragement before finally sitting down. Anne quietly surveyed the students as they took their places. There were a great variety of boys and girls of all ages, and they looked much like the children of any schoolhouse. Yet there was something about them—something in their demeanor and way of presenting themselves—which was not quite so cheerful or confident as the students she was used to teaching in Avonlea. And their clothes—what Anne noticed most was that the girls did not wear the stylish, colorful dresses that she had often seen on Diana and Ruby, and the other Avonlea girls. Their clothes were far more tired and simple, much like the ugly yellow wincy dress she had worn when Matthew had picked her up from the Bright River station eleven springs ago. And their boots and sandals looked very worn; Anne could see more than a few toes poking over the edges of soles that were far too small for the feet that inhabited them.

"Good morning, boys and girls!" Anne greeted once nine o'clock arrived and all of the students had chosen desks. The children sat silently in their seats, staring up at her. "My name is Miss Shirley, and I will be your teacher for what I am sure will be a wonderful school year. Now then, seeing as I know as little about you as you do about me, why don't we go around the room and introduce ourselves? We will each say our name, and age, and what our favorite thing is."

The children continued to stare, silent and wide-eyed, up at Anne. "Well then, I'll go first. My name is Miss Shirley, I am far older than any of you are, and my favorite thing is making an unlikely friend. Now, shall we have a volunteer to go next?" She waited hopefully, but the students remained planted firmly in their seats, appearing rather more like statues than living, breathing human beings.

"Well then," Anne said slowly, the silence becoming rather more awkward by the second. "How about we go around the room, starting here on the left. Can you stand up for me, darling?" Anne gestured to the girl in the front of the leftmost row. She was a dainty sort of thing, with two long blonde braids down her back and a smattering of freckles against a set of high cheekbones. She was one of the orphans from the asylum. She gulped as Anne gestured towards her; her eyes grew as wide as saucers.

"Go on, then," Anne whispered gently. The girl rose from her seat and stood upon thin, trembling legs.

"My name is… um… Alice," she whispered, her high voice sweet yet hardly audible. "I am eight years old." With that Alice skirted back into the safety of her seat.

"Alice, darling," Anne said in as gentle a voice as she could muster, "you haven't told us what your favorite thing is."

Alice merely looked up at Anne and shook her head. Anne's heart broke all over again as she looked into Alice's eyes, which were full of the fear. She wasn't sure what unsettled Alice more—the task of speaking in front of the entire class, or the notion that someone might actually be interested in learning more about her.

"Now now, Alice, you can't tell me there isn't anything you like. Surely you can tell us one thing you enjoy?" Yet Alice only shook her head again. "Very well then, Alice, we can come back to you," Anne reasoned. And she motioned for the next child in the row.

Twenty minutes later, the entire class had been introduced, yet most of them had proved just as shy and scared as Alice was. They answered Anne's questions quickly and properly, and not a laugh or giggle or smile was to be seen in the room. Anne made several attempts to lighten the dreary mood, yet to no avail.

They started out the day by singing "This is the Day,"* which Anne fully intended upon singing every morning, for, as she explained to the students, "the best way to start a day on the right foot is with a song." Of course, none of the children dared sing along, and so Anne rather sang it to them, following the traditional lyrics for the first verse, and then stemming off to a school-related version of her own for the second.

Next they opened their readers and did their daily recitations. This, at least, the children did loudly and dutifully, or at least the ones who had been in the habit of going to school. It saddened Anne, to see that the children dared not sing or talk about themselves, yet when it came to reciting routine passages out of a reader, their voices rang loud and clear.

And so the day continued. They did their schoolwork diligently, sketching out sums and spelling words, yet all Anne could hear as they worked was the soft scratch of chalk upon slate. They dared not laugh or converse with one-another. And when Sally Ingram sneezed, not a soul but Anne dared offer her a "god bless you." Anne also noticed that the children were dreadfully behind academically, most of the middle-aged students still being in the first or second readers, while some of the older ones were struggling with the fourth. She walked around the room, sketching each student's name and reader level into a seating chart.

As the day was drawing to a close, Anne finally, for the first time that afternoon, saw a timid hand rise up into the air. It belonged to a boy of around twelve, with a slender build, dark green eyes, and dusty blonde locks that desperately needed trimming.

"Remind me of your name, dear?" Anne asked, as she strode to the boy's side.

"Thomas, ma'am. Thomas Clay."

"Very well, Thomas, what was your question?"

"Well, ma'am—"

"Call me Miss Shirley."

"Yes, sorry ma'am—er—Miss Shirley. It's only I've been trying to work out this dividend for ages and I just can't seem to get it right." His fingers trembled as he handed his slate to Anne. Without so much as glancing at it, she immediately handed it back. Thomas dropped his gaze to the floor, ashamed.

"I see. And have you asked a friend to help you?" she asked plainly. Thomas looked back up at Anne, confused, as if this was some sort of trick question. Anne merely waited for him to respond.

"Well I, I… we aren't allowed to…"

"Aren't allowed to ask a friend for help?" Anne asked with an exaggerated tone of incredulousness. She had the attention of the entire class by now. "Thomas, dear, let me assure you that we will get nowhere in life, if we are afraid to ask those around us for help. You will not always have a teacher by your side to help you with your problems. You must learn to rely on those around you." Thomas' jaw nearly fell open. Anne could see his eyes grow wide and a look of perplexity wash over his features.

"Attention, students," Anne called, turning to face the rest of the class. "While we are on the subject, I suppose I will establish it as a rule. You may _only_ ask me for help if you have already asked at least two other students first. Will that be easy enough?"

The students nodded quietly, flashing each other pointed glances. Miss Shirley was certainly unlike any teacher they had seen before. And they hadn't even seen the best of her yet.

… … …

Anne lay awake Monday night, thinking over her first day at Patterson Street School. How silent, and timid, and _scared_ the students had been! She knew this would gradually decrease with time, yet even so, she knew a special something was needed to peel back the layers of restraint the students wore so naturally. She racked her brains for something—anything—that might break those children out of their shells. What could she do to make them realize that Patterson Street School was a place for fun and creativity, not a dreary old room where children were seen and not heard? She mulled over this dilemma as the moon rose higher into the sky. She wished she could ask Gilbert for help—surely his clever mind would hold the solution to such a problem. Yet his studies demanded most of his evening hours and she was not to see him until later in the week.

Unable to sleep, Anne arose from her bed and made her way down the stairs to the kitchen, having decided she might as well brew herself a cup of tea. Sitting on the table was a bright red apple. Just like that, Anne had found her idea.

… … …

The next morning, Anne practically pounced on Phil as she walked down the stairs of Hallow's End, yawning and wiping the sleep out of her big brown eyes.

"Goodness gracious, Anne!" cried Phil with a start. "You sure know how to wake a girl up!"

"I am ever so sorry, dearest of Phils! But I'm afraid I'm in rather a hurry and was hoping you'd have emerged an hour ago! I need two large baskets, if you have them, and didn't I see some apple trees in Attley Park?"

"Apple trees… Attley Park?" Phil stuttered. "Aren't you headed to the schoolhouse?"

"Yes, of course I am," Anne said plainly.

A very confused Phil went up into the garret—this time having the good sense to leave the door open—and threw down four baskets, being unable to choose which two might do the job most effectively. Anne thanked her graciously and, five minutes later, had set off for the schoolhouse.

By nine o'clock the students had entered and taken their seats, the same as the day before. And they sat still as statues in those seats, the same as the day before. Anne greeted the class enthusiastically and led them once again in a modified rendition of "This is the Day." She was not surprised this time to find herself singing _to_ the students, rather than _with_ them.

"Alright then," she said matter-of-factly. "Unfortunately, one day is not enough for me to put thirty-nine names and ages with thirty-nine faces. And so we will once again go around the room and introduce ourselves, only this time, rather than saying our favorite thing, we will say our favorite word." The students looked at her quizzically, clearly thinking it odd that one might have a favorite word.

"Any volunteers to go first?" asked Anne, purposefully keeping from starting off the introductions herself. As expected, not a single hand was raised up into the air. "Very well, then. Perhaps I am boring you all. Well, up we go then!" she cried, and with that Anne climbed nimbly up on top of the master's desk and stood upon it. This, finally, evoked some noise from the students, who broke into a chorus of involuntary gasps. They continued to stare at her, mouths gaping. "Well come on, then! Are you going to disobey your teacher?"

Anne tried to hide a smile as she watched the students below her; they shot apprehensive looks at one another, before one of the older boys gingerly began to climb up onto his desk. The other students hesitated, then followed his lead.

"There we go! Bill, isn't it? You're going to be a leader one day, I know it. Look, you already are." Anne smiled at the students as she looked around the room. How comical they all looked, perched atop of the desks she had worked so hard to polish last Saturday!

"Well now, don't we look silly!" she exclaimed. The students tried to retain their composure, but as they began to look around at each other, a few of the younger ones started to giggle. Giggles are contagious, as everyone knows, and soon the room was filled with—for the first time in years—laughter. It was music to Anne's ears.

"Now then, my name is Miss Shirley, I am far older than any of you are, and my favorite word is 'flibbertigibbet,' because, well, you never can say 'flibbertigibbet' without feeling a little happier inside for doing so, can you?"

A few students giggled.

"Now, don't you believe me? Let's all try it together. Repeat after me: _flibbertigibbet._"

"Flibbertigibbet," the students murmured quietly, their faces going red from embarrassment at uttering such a comical word.

"Oh, come now! If you are going to say it like that, you might as well not, for you take all the fun out of it!" Anne said in mock sternness. "Now then, louder this time, like you mean it! Flibbertigibbet!"

"Flibbertigibbet!" the students cried, more loudly this time. And then they immediately all burst into laughter. Anne beamed at them.

"Alright then, Bill-the-leader. Why don't you go first?" Bill hesitated a moment, then looked at Anne and met her gaze confidently.

"My name is Bill Mayfield, I am fifteen years old, and my favorite word is… um…" he paused and thought for a moment, "codfish." This declaration was met with more chuckles from the class.

"I don't know why…" Bill continued, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "It just always seemed the strangest word to me."

"And indeed it is!" Anne exclaimed. "Repeat after me, everyone. Don't you make me utter such silly words all by myself... _codfish_!"

"Codfish!" came the ringing voices of the children. This was followed by more laughter.

"Alright then, Bill. You may sit down now. Who is going to go next? Last one standing has to think of _three _words!"

And so the introductions were turned into a game, and when they were through, the desktops were far dirtier but the classroom seemed somehow brighter and more cheerful.

"Now then, take out your—" Anne began. The students immediately began flipping open their readers.

"No no, we aren't going to open those things today." The students stared at Anne, once again completely perplexed. An entire day at school _without _opening their readers? The idea was simply unheard of.

"I meant to say, take out your _lunch pails._ Our learning today won't regard reading and arithmetic. Rather, we will learn about each other. Come now, children, we're going to have a picnic." This declaration was met by excited gasps and brief cheers from many of the students, who had for once forgotten to restrain themselves.

Anne gave the baskets she had brought to two of the larger boys, and the students shuffled out of the room, lunch pails in tow. They were still very quiet, although they had begun to relax a bit, and they chatted to each other in excited whispers as they walked. Anne did not try to converse with the students, but rather, she simply listened, reveling in the sound of the golden chatter of children. There was something in the buzz of their voices that told Anne they were not accustomed to spontaneous outings. Well, she wasn't going to be anything like the teachers they had had before, and they might as well get used to it.

They walked down Patterson Street and took a left on Attley Crossing, passing by the manse as they did so. Phil was sitting in the sunshine on the front porch with a swatch of white fabric on her lap, stitching—or more, attempting to stitch—at what Anne knew to be a very poor try at the Blake family emblem. Her mouth opened in awe as Anne called to her merrily from the street, and she watched as a seemingly endless line of students trailed behind her.

As they continued down the street, the cramped, dingy row houses were replaced with larger dwellings which had room to breathe, and the street was lined with cherry trees whose pale green leaves had begun to be overtaken by fiery oranges and reds. The atmosphere of the slum was replaced with one more fresh and cheerful. After half a mile or so they reached Attley Park, which was situated on the north end of what Phil had called "The Frog Pond," and was, in reality, one of Kingsport's many small lakes. As they entered the park Anne saw what she had been searching for—a tiny cluster of apple trees, still heavy with fruit that had begun to ripen back in August.

"Now then, gather around!" Anne called to the children, who obeyed excitedly. "We'll pick an apple for each of us, and then we'll head over to the shore of the pond to eat them. It's a bit high for most of you, I think, so why don't we choose a few of the taller boys to climb up into the trees and fetch the apples down for us. Bill, Eddie, Lawrence, each of you pick a tree and scurry up it. Now, who wants to stand below and catch them?"

A sea of hands rose up around her. "Well now, we can't _all_ stand underneath… then nothing would get caught," she laughed. "How about Joseph, and James, and, I'm sorry, was your name Henry? You three can stand under and toss them to… Betsy and Clara."

Ten minutes of fun and laughter ensued, as the boys had the grandest of times plucking bright red apples from the trees and pelting them down to their friends below. The other boys ooh'd and ahh'd at some of the more spectacular catches, while the girls stood in clusters of three and four and watched admiringly, every once in a while leaning in to whisper girlish secrets to one another. Anne couldn't help but think of Gilbert as she watched the scene before her, for wouldn't he have been the first to scurry up an apple tree in their school days? And she would have been down below, glaring up at him and telling herself firmly, and in vain, that she _wasn't_ the slightest bit impressed.

After plenty of fruit had been harvested and the boys had made a show of leaping acrobatically back to the ground, Anne led the students to the shore of the Frog Pond, where they settled themselves in a large circle.

"Now, you can only take an apple from the basket if you tell me one important thing about yourself. Think hard, and when you are ready, come form a line." It was a full minute before anyone came forward. Finally Eddie Allendale, a tall, sturdy boy of fourteen who had been up in the tree, stood up and approached the center of the circle. He reached into the basket and pulled out an apple, turning it over nervously in his hands.

"An important thing about myself is I am good at fixing things," he said quickly.

"Well, now I know who to call if our classroom needs repairs!" Anne laughed. "Very good." Eddie grinned sheepishly and resumed his spot in the circle. The next brave soul was a girl with thick brown curls brushing against the neckline of a tattered gray dress. She reminded Anne, upon the latter's request, that her name was Martha Evans.

"An important thing about myself is that I can spit a cherry pit farther than my brother." She looked archly over at a curly-haired boy across the circle—Daniel, Anne remembered—and his face turned as red as the apples in the basket. He dropped his eyes to his feet and a few of his friends elbowed him in the ribs.

"Well then, that is quite the accomplishment!" Anne cried. "Although to spare your brother his honor, I shall have to see for myself. Perhaps later this week, we will have a contest." This evoked yet another exclamation from the students, who were in utter disbelief that Miss Shirley would condone the spitting of cherry pits, and during the school day!

Anne tried to remember everything she could as the students came up one by one and each took an apple from the basket. George Mason could throw a football fifty feet, Frederick Williams was an inch taller than his father, Julia Stafford sewed her own dress, Billy Clay could make a make a ship out of newspaper and float it down the street gutter, Caroline Curtis didn't like school—Anne was determined to change that by Christmas—and Nellie Blackmon could jump rope over a thousand jumps in a row.

Once the apples had been consumed and the students had polished off their rather meager lunches, Anne taught them how to get up a beat using claps, snaps, and knee slaps. Then she asked them their favorite songs—some she knew, while other's she asked them to teach her. And they clapped and snapped and sang them to the rhythm.

"The fox went out on a chilly night,

he prayed to the Moon to give him light,

for he'd many a mile to go that night

before he reached the town-o, town-o, town-o,

he had many a mile to go that night

before he reached the town-o." **

A few of the students were still too nervous to sing, but most of them had long abandoned any sense of apprehensiveness towards the mysterious Miss Shirley. Every time they came upon the word "town-o," the boys would bellow it obnoxiously at the top of their lungs, and Anne would have to pause for laughter. Other times she paused of her own accord and let the sound of the children's singing fill her ears.

To think that anyone had considered these children not worth their time! What joys they were! As they sat in their circle, giggling and laughing and singing, Anne couldn't help but notice that the only thing which differentiated them from any other class of children were the tattered clothes on their backs, the locks of hair that fell over their eyes and desperately needed trimming, and the considerably scant portions found in their lunch pails. They were thirty-nine children full of hope and promise, thirty-nine beautiful pearls, just waiting to be freed from their shells. And Anne was already in love with them all.

It was a different group of students that returned to the schoolhouse that afternoon, than those which had left it that morning. Fear and nervousness had slowly begun to give way to high-spirits and confidence. The day had been a success, and Anne was hardly able to resist the urge to run all the way to Redmond and tell Gilbert every detail. She knew that today was just the beginning; it would be weeks, perhaps months, before they learned to trust—before they learned of their own remarkable value. Yet that is exactly what today was: the _beginning._ It was the beginning of something challenging, yet all the more beautiful for it.

* * *

><p>*"This is the Day" is a hymn originating in 1734 (first performed at the royal wedding of a lady named <em>Anne!<em>).

*Taken from "The Fox," a traditional folk song dating back to the 15th century and one of my personal favorites.

**_AN: So there you have Patterson Street School… don't worry, I haven't abandoned poor Gilbert by the wayside; I promised more Gil and you will get more Gil! But first, I really wanted to establish Anne's life in Kingsport... and the magic of Anne is that she is so much more than just Gilbert's fiance... she brings light and love wherever she goes. And that only makes us, and Gilbert, want to love her more. But that being said, for the next chapter it's back to Gilbert we go!_**


	4. Sensations

_AN: And now we return to Gilbert, and a bit more romance, as promised!_

**Chapter 4: Sensations**

Anne had not spent a week as schoolma'am of Patterson Street before she started noticing them; they seemed to follow her everywhere—whispers. No matter where she walked, whether it be to the baker, the grocer, or the tailor, behind her followed a steady trail of glances, pointing fingers, and hushed conversation. As entranced by her daydreams as Anne was apt to be, she still could not help but notice the way people _stared_ at her as she made her daily stroll to and from the old schoolhouse. The chatter of the neighborhood's humble residents centered not on the recent robbery of the general store, or the uncharacteristically distraught state of Reverend Blake in church that past Sunday. Rather, talk centered around the bold, new, _unconventional _methods of Miss Anne Shirley.

"Mary told me she had them standing _on top_ of their desks!"

"A cherry spitting contest, and including the _girls _at that! Not to mention she crowned the winner with a wreath of stems!"

"I heard that on Thursday they had a musical spelling bee!"

"I heard Mrs. Hughes wouldn't let Jonathan and Sarah come to school. And what do you know, but Anne marched right up to her front door and told her off for it! You know how stubborn Mrs. Hughes doesn't take lip from anybody, but sure as you live, the next day there they were, sitting in their two seats by the stroke of nine."

Indeed, Anne Shirley was known for making a sensation wherever she went, and Patterson Street immediately proved to be no different. The talk around her was not altogether demeaning, so much as it was bewildered. The likes of such a determined, spirited schoolma'am had never been seen in tired old Patterson before. And indeed, there was no room for criticism, if only for the irrefutable fact that the children already adored her. And _that_ was something Patterson Street had never beheld.

"And how fares Patterson's newest sensation?" asked Gilbert jokingly as he greeted Anne at their new meeting place. The place in question was a bridge, the Purcells Bridge to be exact, and it spanned a narrow arm of ocean which jutted inland from Kingsport's wide bay, and separated Redmond College from Patterson and its surrounding neighborhoods. Not only was the bridge the quickest way to get from Patterson to Redmond, but it served as a rough halfway point between the two. And so Gilbert had suggested it as a meeting place, so that Anne would never have to make the walk to Redmond entirely alone.

"Oh yes, very funny," Anne said sarcastically, as she elbowed Gilbert lightly. "I hadn't figured what a fuss I'd make among the community with my… _methods_. But I suppose I do tend to make a scene wherever I go. It is my cross to bear. That, and my persistently red hair."

Gilbert laughed as he took hold of Anne's hand and pulled her to himself, meeting her lips with a soft kiss. They had hardly seen each other since the day of the garret incident a week prior—only one thirty-minute ramble through the streets near their meeting place—and each felt a small thrill at the touch of the other. "Indeed, you sure know how to make a first impression," he said as he drew back and held her at arm's length. Anne glared at him as he gave her a wink. "Well it's no wonder you've won the children over already. Didn't I tell you they'd be climbing over one another just to please you?"

"Well they are still warming up to me," Anne claimed, although Gilbert knew she was just being modest. "Some of them are still a bit shy. But they are the most wonderful children, Gilbert! Most of them are at least two readers behind where they ought to be, but my goal is to make up that difference by the end of the year. Oh Gilbert, I've had the best week. I am physically and mentally exhausted, and yesterday I had such a headache I could not even bring myself to finish my letter to Marilla. But it's a wonderful exhaustion, really. It means I've done some good."

Gilbert beamed at Anne. He had been so worried that she would be unhappy in Patterson Street. Seeing the way she loved the children and the school reassured him beyond words.

"But enough about me," Anne said, giving Gilbert's hand a squeeze. "Tell me about your week, and especially about your boarding house. I want to picture it in my mind, so I may compare it to the reality when we arrive."

… … …

It was ten minutes later when Anne and Gilbert finally did cross the threshold of Twenty-two, Hart Street, which was otherwise known to its inhabitants as Hart House. It was three-stories and rather old fashioned, and as Anne looked upon it for the first time, it struck her as very similar to her old boarding house at Thirty-eight, St. John's, except that it was made of brown stone instead of gray.

The inside was certainly very different from St. Johns, if only for the absence of dozens of plump, obnoxious cushions covering every visible surface. As Gilbert closed the door and helped Anne to remove her coat, her eyes fell upon a tall boy with dark brown hair that had been combed over into submission across the top of his head. He wore a set of glasses over dark green eyes with especially long lashes. He might have been at least somewhat handsome, were it not for his overly large nose, and the fact that Anne could not tell where one eyebrow ended and the other began.

He was sitting at the sofa and staring shamelessly at Anne over the top of a chemistry textbook; the low table before him could hardly be seen under the pile of papers and books spread across it. Seeing that he did not intend to speak, Anne opened her mouth to introduce herself, but Gilbert beat her to the task.

"Evening, Grover," Gilbert called. "I'd like you to meet Anne. Anne, my roommate Grover. He is just beginning the medical course as well."

"Evening, Anne," said Grover simply, while still staring at her awkwardly. One would think he had never met a woman before. Out of good manners, Anne took several steps forward and extended her hand in greeting. An uncomfortable look immediately entered Grover's features, and she hesitated.

"Nevermind that, Anne. Grover won't shake anyone's hand, will you, chap?"

"No indeed, sorry Anne," Grover replied, as he clutched his textbook a little tighter. His voice had a nasal quality to it that reminded Anne of Charlie Sloane. "Hands are a breeding ground for germs, you know. Eighty percent of infectious diseases are transmitted through contact of the skin."

"Oh," was all Anne managed to utter, unsure of how to respond to such a comment. She turned to Gilbert; he shrugged his shoulders and gave a small grin.

"Will you be joining us at the banquet tonight, Anne?" asked Grover, as he jotted a note in his book with a pencil. It was tradition at Redmond for the professors in the medical department to hold a banquet each fall for students entering the program. It was a time for the students to socialize and get to know one another, not to mention an effective morale boost after a trying start to the term. The students were encouraged to bring guests, and so Gilbert had been more than happy to ask Anne to accompany him.

"Yes, I—"

"I'd recommend you stay away from the crab cakes, if they serve them. Teddy claims he ate them last year and was sick by the end of the night. I'm doing my best to inform others of the dangers."

"Teddy… who?" Anne uttered, still not quite sure how to respond to Grover.

"Another roommate," Gilbert clarified. "He's in his second year of the medical course. There is also Dennis who is studying for a B.A. in mathematics, and the twins, Maurice and Maximilian, who are each studying law. We'll be seeing you, Grover," Gilbert said with a curt wave, as he pulled Anne through the room. "Six fifty, yes?"

"Yes," clarified Grover. "Although it takes eleven minutes to walk to campus, and so by rights we should leave at six forty-nine... you know I cannot stand to arrive late to anything."

"Yes well, how about we play it safe and say six forty-eight?" said Gilbert, attempting not to let out a chuckle, as Grover agreed enthusiastically to the plan. He and Anne adjourned into the hallway, and once they were out of earshot, Anne immediately turned to Gilbert and raised her eyebrows.

"He's an interesting fellow, to say the least," conceded Gilbert. "He is very studious—wonderful memory for dates and facts. But he can be a bit uncomfortable at times. Ah, and he's also terrified of germs."

"I noticed," Anne laughed. "Except, Gilbert… you said he was in the _medical program_ as well?"

"Indeed."

"Then... he wants to be a doctor. But he is afraid of germs."

"Yes, he does seem to be a walking contradiction doesn't he?"

"He'll be around disease all the time!"

"Perhaps he's planning on wearing gloves." Anne put her hands on her hips and glared at Gilbert. "Well he's interested in laboratory work, mostly. He isn't planning to be a doctor in the same sense that I am. He's more interested in working in hospitals… running tests, evaluating symptoms and diagnosing the more vexing diseases."

"I see," said Anne, still not convinced, as Gilbert led her into the kitchen. From there he gave her a tour of Hart House, which had six bedrooms—four on the second floor, and two on the third. Two of the second floor rooms belonged to the landladies, Miss Lottie and Miss Blanche, who were a pair of elderly sisters who had owned the place for decades. Their old age had begun to show, Gilbert explained. Miss Lottie was still a rather sharp woman mentally, but she couldn't understand a word you said unless you repeated it three times, and right next to her ear. Miss Blanche could still hear relatively well, but she was so scatter-brained that she often forgot what she was saying mid-sentence. Conversations between the two of them were diverting, to say the least. But they were kind ladies and they ran a clean house, with hot meals served three times a day, and visitors allowed on Wednesdays and weekends.

Another bedroom was shared by Grover and Teddy, and another by the twins. The third landing housed the two smallest bedrooms, and these were occupied by Gilbert and Dennis. Winning the Cooper prize had had its advantages for Gilbert, one of which was the ability to afford his own room. Once Gilbert had given Anne a thorough tour, he checked his watch and, knowing the world just might stop turning if they departed for the banquet any later than six forty-eight, they returned to the living room to meet Grover.

… … …

If Anne had only just become a sensation on Patterson street, well, Gilbert was already one at Redmond. As they entered the courtyard of the building housing Redmond's medical department—at approximately six fifty-nine, or at least according to Grover's pocket watch—Gilbert was immediately greeted enthusiastically by the program director, Mr. Forsett, along with various professors. And it wasn't as if everyone was greeted that way—Grover was greeted with friendly words and handshakes, but nothing of the zest that Gilbert received.

And the same seemed to be true not only with the professors, but with Gilbert's fellow pupils as well. Classes hadn't been in session two weeks, yet everybody seemed to know his name, or have something to discuss with him about last week's anatomy quiz, or the experiment he had assisted with in Thursday's chemistry lesson. Anne fairly lost track of names as Gilbert took her around the small hall, introducing her to Marvin and Silas and Mack and Levi and Harry and Clem… and after that the names just blurred together in Anne's head—after all, she had already spent the week learning thirty-nine _other _names.

She looked up at Gilbert admiringly as he chatted with his histology professor about the previous day's laboratory. He was wearing a pair of black slacks, and beneath his vest of the same color was a sage-green button-up shirt that brought out the greenish tones in his hazel eyes. And they nearly sparkled as he talked, so passionate he was about the subject. He ran a hand absentmindedly through his hair; a hot flush came over Anne and she bit her lip as she dropped her gaze to the floor.

Anne certainly marvelled at the repore Gilbert had already gained with the Redmond medical community. Yet she did not find it so strange, once she realized _why_ he was already so highly esteemed. As they sat at the banquet table, sipping on glasses of cordial and awaiting the arrival of the first course, the program director stood at the front of the room, in order to address those gathered to supper. And as his speech began to draw to a close, he acknowledged the hard work it had taken the students to gain entrance into such a selective program, and especially those who had received honors and scholarships during their undergraduate studies. It was then that he took special care to acknowledge some of the winners of more distinguished awards, before he finally came to the last, most important one.

"And last but not least, it is our pleasure as a department to have among our students the winner of Redmond's most prestigious award. For the first time in five years, Redmond has recently awarded the Cooper Prize, an award given to those with not only the most outstanding academic achievement, but a record of social excellence and service to the community as well. We are pleased to have him among us for the next three years... Mr. Gilbert Blythe."

The room burst into applause as the director motioned for Gilbert to stand up. He gave Anne a shrug and a small grin, before rising to his feet and giving the room a curt wave. _Of course,_ thought Anne. _The Cooper Prize_. No wonder Gilbert already possessed such a reputation among the crowd. Winning the Cooper Prize must have made him practically famous among the Redmond community at large. And Anne was overcome with pride. It was _her_ boy who was the talk of the party. And that such an accomplished, admired man would choose _her_ as his guest, not only at the banquet but in life, made her fairly tingle from head to toe.

Gilbert said a quick thank you to the crowd, not failing to evoke a few chuckles as well, and when he resumed his seat, it was all Anne could do not to kiss him. Instead her hand wandered sideways and settled on his knee. Gilbert started slightly as he felt her soft pressure upon it. Wanting to tease him, she slid it up an inch higher, and he raised his eyebrows at her in response.

"I'm afraid you'll need to restrain yourself until dinner is through, Miss Shirley. Or... shall we each excuse ourselves for the washroom?"

Anne rolled her eyes at him and Gilbert laughed; she attempted to withdraw her hand, but Gilbert quickly covered it with his own.

"You're stuck here now," he said mischievously. "Do you suppose you can slice your crab cakes with one hand?"

Once supper was through, the guests filed back into the courtyard for conversation. Gilbert quickly found himself wrapped up in conversation with a few fellow students, as Anne spent time catching up with some friends from her own Redmond studies, whom she had noticed from across the courtyard.

When she finally spotted Gilbert some time later, he was deep in conversation with a pretty girl wearing a flowing navy-blue gown with white silk gloves; her golden hair was pulled up elegantly on top of her head. Anne assumed she must be here with one of the medical school students, although whoever he was, he was nowhere to be found. As Anne made her way back towards Gilbert, he noticed her from across the room, hastily bid farewell to the girl, and strode over to her.

"There you are, I was wondering where you had gone off to. I'm not boring you, am I darling?" Gilbert asked as he leaned down and gave Anne a light kiss next to her ear. She flushed at this unexpected gesture.

"No-o," she said. "Who was that you were just talking to?"

"Hmm?" Gilbert asked, having already forgotten about the girl in the dark blue dress, as he contemplated the propriety of kissing Anne again. "Oh! Yes, that was Pauline. She is in the program as well, or at least on the two-year track. She is studying to become a nurse."

Anne wasn't sure why Gilbert's words shocked her so. Of course there were women in the program, how could she have been so silly as to assume otherwise? She glanced around once again, realizing that many of the women were probably students also. It shouldn't bother her, Gilbert attending classes along with women. After all, there had been plenty of women in his classes at Redmond. But as she looked around at these ambitious, intelligent, and also _beautiful _ladies, she began to feel rather small and plain. She was, after all, just a schoolteacher in comparison.

"Anne?" Gilbert asked, as he took hold of her hand and squeezed it. She tore her eyes from the scene around her and looked over at him—there was that tender, loving gaze that he often fixed upon her. And any insignificance she had felt faded away, as she saw that he cared nothing for any of those women; he had eyes for no one but her.

He leaned in and brought his lips next to her ear, and when he spoke he sent tingles down her spine. "Shall we take a walk?"

And with that the two of them left the banquet behind and set out into the night.

… … …

It was well after dark, and by rights they ought to have parted by now, or at least have brought Grover with them. But when Anne mentioned this, Gilbert reasoned that they were walking in the general direction of Patterson Street, and it would be ungentlemanly of him _not_ to walk her home.

"And earlier today you called _me_ a sensation!" Anne teased, as they ambled towards the Purcells Bridge. "You didn't bother to tell me that I am not the only one turning heads in Kingsport."

Gilbert laughed as he tugged on her arm and drew her a little closer towards himself. "They make too grand of a deal out of it. All I did was ace some tests… help out with some charities…"

"By the way you speak, anyone could have won the Cooper… it's a wonder they don't award a dozen a year."

"Well to be fair, my social engagements were all but naught by the end of that last term," Gilbert argued.

Anne shivered as she thought over Gilbert's words, remembering the confession he had made to her several months ago… that the reason he had stayed out of Redmond's social circles was because he couldn't bear to see her on Roy's arm. Yet now she was on _his, _and she gripped it a little tighter.

"Well I thought it was very impressive," admitted Anne. "You seem to be very happy with your choice to enter medical school, Gil. There is nothing more glorious, than to see someone you love so happy and passionate about what they are doing with their life." She might have also mentioned the way the excitement in his voice and the fire behind his eyes that evening attracted her to him so, but she did not.

"I couldn't agree more," Gilbert said with a smile, and instead of medical school, he was thinking about Anne and her drive to change the lives of the students on Patterson Street.

They had come to the bridge by now, and Anne stopped Gilbert just as he was about to step upon it.

"Let's not yet, Gilbert. Hallow's End is on the other side, and I'm not ready to go home yet. Please, let's take the long way 'round the inlet."

As expected, Gilbert readily consented to this plan; it would add another half hour onto their walk. He had hardly seen Anne all week and he wasn't keen on bidding her farewell just yet.

And so under the faint glow of a waning moon, the two lovers walked hand in hand along a path that ran along the inlet, the ground sloping down from it to the water below. As they rounded the end of the inlet and ventured along the other side, the air was filled with a quiet stillness. There was no road here; a thick wood of trees stood on their right, while the water lay on their left.

"Oh Gilbert, this feels just like the country! Don't you love the way these pines shut out the lights and sounds of the sleepy city? I needn't even close my eyes to pretend I am in Avonlea. Come, let's go down to the water's edge." She let go of Gilbert's hand and began to traverse the several yards of rocky slope. She had never been particularly graceful, and in an evening gown no less, and Gilbert chuckled at her comical figure skipping across the rocks. He followed nimbly behind her, just as she stumbled over her own shoe and landed clumsily on the sand below.

He would have been worried, were it not for the way she burst into laughter immediately afterwards.

"You goose!" he cried, as he knelt next to her. "I've never understood how women walk in heels, let alone run. Well you don't have me fooled, Anne. I can see it's not always easy."

Anne laughed as she yanked her heels off of her feet and stood up, beginning to walk barefoot across the sand, and giving out a relieved sigh to be rid of them. Gilbert noticed that she was lightly rubbing her wrist.

"Ah, but you've hurt yourself. Let's have a look." He motioned for her to show him her wrist.

"I am just fine, Mr. Blythe, thank you very much."

"I've heard that before, from a girl who walked all the way to Green Gables from Moody Surgeon's house on a twisted ankle, and if I'm remembering correctly, she wasn't in school the next day."*

Anne grunted at the memory, as she reluctantly presented him with her wrist. He took it in one hand, as he laced the fingers of his other hand carefully with her own, using them to bend her wrist backwards and forwards slowly. Then he took his thumb and middle finger and gently squeezed in various places. She let out a small gasp as he tweaked a sore spot.

"Ah, well you'll be alright. You've only twisted it a bit," Gilbert said. "Does it hurt very much?" Yet Anne hardly heard him. Instead, she could only think of how _gentle_ he had been as he examined her. It was such an innocent touch, yet she found her cheeks flushing and her breaths quickening. If he would touch her again now, as gently as before, she felt certain she would melt.

"Anne?" he asked, taking her injured wrist and kissing it lightly. "I asked, does it hurt?"

"Hmm?" she said faintly, her moist skin cold where his lips had just been, and her eyes flitting back and forth between his.

"Apparently not much," he chuckled, as he realized the effect his touch had had on her. He still hadn't quite gotten used to the idea that _he_ was the one who could spark such feelings in her. It exhilarated him every time he thought about it.

He carefully pulled her towards him, being careful not to further injure her wrist. He kissed it again, then trailed a soft line of tender pecks up her arm. She let out a small sigh as his lips arrived at the exposed skin of her neck, and her head rolled back as he gave it his full attention. Her knees began to tremble and he pulled her against him to steady her. He wrapped her up in his arms as she brought her hands to his hair, the way she always did, and his scalp tingled where she tugged on his locks, just as always.

Anne tried to pull her head back up; Gilbert knew she wanted him to kiss her lips, yet he couldn't resist the opportunity to tease her. And so instead he nuzzled further into her neck and kissed the nape of it.

"Goodness I missed you this week," he breathed in a brief moment when his lips were free, and although Anne did not answer he knew she was feeling the same. Every second that Gilbert resisted the urge to kiss her face, a sort of pressure seemed to pent itself up inside him; it grew stronger and stronger until he could no longer resist and he captured her lips with his.

He could hardly remember her kissing him with the same fervor that consumed her now, and he took a step, moving her backwards, although to where he did not know, for there was nothing to lean her up against.

"Lay me down, Gil," she whispered, before kissing him again. He didn't answer for a moment, thinking of the way she had hesitated the last time he had done so, during that sweetest of moonlit trysts after Alice Penhallow's wedding. "Lay me down," she said again, a tiny hint of pleading in her voice. How could he resist her, when she wanted him so?

And so he pulled her with him as he settled down on the sand and, being careful not to bother her injured wrist, laid her against it softly. He brought himself up on one arm next to her, the way he had done before. He leaned over her and kissed her deeply, yet the pressure inside him only mounted more. And their kisses grew more fervent and frequent but still it provided no relief.

Anne felt a similar feeling rise inside her, threatening to boil over, and all she knew was his lips were touching every part of her face, and she lost herself in the sensation of it, pulling him closer towards her. Without thinking Gilbert shifted his body in response, propping an elbow on either side of her face and bringing a knee over her, nestling it on the fabric of her dress between her legs.

"_Keep your hands to yourself, Blythe," _Gilbert thought, as he was acutely aware of the way his vest grazed lightly over her breasts. But he could do nothing to keep _Anne's_ hands from wandering. Those sweet, delicate hands wreaked havoc on him wherever they went; she ran them up and down his back, and after several minutes he felt them travel to the skin of the hollow of his throat. And next—but could it be?—she was working at the first button of his shirt. He was surprised at how quickly and skillfully she unfastened it. She looked up at him and he met her with raised eyebrows.

"I had good practice when you were ill, remember?" Anne said as she began to feel the skin just below his collarbone. One button, that was all. She really ought not to have unfastened it—they both knew that—but she had remembered the harshness of the skin of his chest, when it had been covered with the rashes of typhoid fever. And somehow she just had to feel it properly, even if only the skin just beneath his collarbone. It was still not as smooth as her own, but it was firm and healthy and before she knew it she was kissing him there.

"Now that's not fair," Gilbert sighed, half-joking, through heavy breaths. "I can't undo your first button…"

"You could…" she said quietly, as she pulled her lips from his chest and looked up at him, longing in her eyes. She was just as surprised as he was, when she said it. Her heart began to beat even more wildly than before and she wondered if he could sense it. She thought she might take back the offer—she should take it back—but what came out instead was: "just one."

Gilbert looked down at the button in question, sitting just below her throat, and still a few inches above those full, forbidden breasts. If only she knew how much he wanted to! But he was afraid—afraid that _one_ button would become two, and three, and four. He did not trust himself; he did not trust the longing that consumed his mind and body. His hand moved down her neck and he traced his fingers lightly over the button, before bringing them back up to her face. "I shouldn't, Anne," Gilbert said quietly, and when he looked into her eyes, she knew that was the end of the subject. Gilbert realized then that he really must end this now, or risk doing something he might regret. And so he gave her one last deep kiss, then pulled away and rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow.

"We should get you home," he said quietly. "We wouldn't want Phil to worry about you."

Anne was very quiet as they walked back towards Hallow's End. She felt quite the fool, to make such a suggestion. Of course Gilbert did not take up her offer—the idea was simply scandalous and he must have thought her ridiculous! Gilbert sensed her unease, and realized suddenly that she may have misunderstood him. Could she really not know the reason for his restraint? Did she not realize that he resisted, not because he _didn't_ yearn for her, but because he _did? _He stopped walking for a moment and pulled her towards him, bringing his lips to her ear.

"Just because I didn't, doesn't mean I didn't want to. Quite the opposite."

And even the darkness could not hide Anne's blush.

* * *

><p>*I realize Anne only walked home in the movie version, not the book… let me have my fun!<p>

** There are a few references here to this story's prequel, Around the Bend, namely with Anne remembering Gil's diseased chest, and references to "the last time" he laid her down. I apologize if that was confusing to anyone who has not read them.

**AN: I have a few words of thanks to give… firstly to all of you who have reviewed, I know I've been rather sluggish throughout these first few chapters and your insightful comments and words of encouragement have given me the drive to sort out these characters and settings and build this world for Anne and Gilbert. Thank you, thank you, thank you!**

**Also to Edkchestnut, who made the point that of course, Anne would have become quite the spectacle in Patterson Street, and people were bound to be talking about her. And also to katherine-with-a-k… much of my mentality behind Anne/Gil's physical relationship comes from her lovely one-shots: An Uninvited Guest and Little Fires.**


	5. The Jonah Contract

_AN: Hi readers... well it must be the holiday season, because I simply haven't had any time to write these past few weeks (no joke!) Thank you for waiting patiently for me, once again. Here is a lengthy update that I hope will keep you satisfied :)_

_Alright, now we come back to exactly where we left off, after Anne's evening with Gilbert. Speaking of which, just fyi, I added a line to the end of the last chapter… it's nothing really, I had just felt it ended a bit abruptly. Thanks to LinaOso for mentioning Anne's blush and inadvertently giving me the line I needed :)_

**Chapter 5: The Jonah Contract**

Anne Shirley sat in her little east-facing bedroom, watching the moon follow its steady arc through the sky, soon to disappear over the roofline of Hallow's End. Or at least, she appeared to be watching it. In reality, she was looking at her reflection in the windowpane, while gently brushing through her hair. Her strokes grew softer and slower, until the brush's hard bristles were rather sitting in her hair than actually parting it.

Eventually she abandoned the brush completely, setting the brass handle on the window ledge. And instead she brought her hand to her face, gently stroking her fingertips over each part of it, seeing her movements mirrored back to her in the glass. And everywhere she touched, she remembered Gilbert's lips upon it, only an hour before. She was sure there was not a part of _her_ that did not taste of _him_ in that moment, or at least not any visible part. And as she imagined his touches, she was filled with a burning feeling that was becoming more and more familiar—it was a feeling only he had ever given her.

And it was a _new_, alien feeling. The way each little spot his lips found erupted in a tingling pleasure… it was like nothing she had ever experienced.

"And to be honest," she said quietly to her reflection, in almost a whisper, for so secret were her thoughts, she hardly dared utter them aloud, "I never even knew that such a feeling existed in the world. I always thought an ear was for hearing, a nose for smelling, an eye for seeing and a neck for proudly holding all the rest of it upright. But now I realize they are so much more than that. Whoever thought that such a feeling could be invoked upon my _ear!_ The idea is simply comical_._"

She brought her fingers to her ear and tugged upon it lightly, imagining Gilbert's lips touching it instead, and her cheeks turned a light shade of pink. Her heartbeats quickened in the excitement of these new discoveries—suddenly her body was not just a vessel to carry her about her daily life, but it was something to be touched, tasted, and loved. And the thought of this—all this overwhelming _newness_—sparked another feeling as well.

"I think I'm scared," she admitted quietly to the Anne in the window, as she leaned her head upon the ledge and touched a fingertip to the cool glass. "I am scared because it is so, well, strange. I feel as if I am rediscovering myself. I am feeling feelings I never knew I could feel. I am thinking things I never thought I could think! It is as if this new side of me has awakened—this strange half of me, shrouded in a veil of mystery, and Gilbert's fingers, oh, those pleasure-inducing fingers! They are beginning to pull it back. And I don't know whether I should feel pleased or excited or ashamed. Oh sweet girl in the mirror, is it wrong to feel these things? Is it indecent? I think Mrs. Lynde would certainly call it indecent. And maybe it would seem so, but then I think of _him. _Oh, Gil! When I think of Gilbert it all makes sense. When I think of Gilbert, it does not seem so very wrong at all. But _that _scares me, too."

It was then that Anne's thoughts turned to the things not of Gilbert's doing, but of her own, down on the banks of the inlet. It was she who suggested they extend their journey home, even though they ought not to have been out alone after dark in the first place. And then those words she had uttered without thinking… "lay me down." She had been so confident in them when she had spoken them. There had not been a doubt in her mind that she wanted—no, _needed_—for him to lay her down, vulnerable on the sandy ground, in order that he might kiss her even more fiercely and consumingly than before. And then his shirt—it was she who had set that first button free, and it was she who as good as asked him to do the same to her.

"I don't know what I was thinking, dear other-Anne. I have since begun to wonder if I was thinking at all. It certainly wasn't proper of us to be so very alone at night, and it certainly wasn't proper of me to unfasten his shirt button. But don't you see… in that moment I _had_ to! In that moment I was thinking of the fever. I was thinking of how weak and sallow his skin had looked when we changed him, and the way his rash had made it so rough and unpleasant looking. And I remembered thinking I might _lose him_. I remembered the tears I cried, knowing that I might never get the chance to see him the way I had imagined seeing him. After all, he nearly died! But he didn't, and he was _there_, and I felt as relieved as I had been the day his fever broke. And oh, other-Anne, there I was, presented with the opportunity I once thought was all but lost, and I simply couldn't help myself!"*

Anne buried her face in her hands for a moment, out of a mixture of embarrassment and remembered sorrow. She looked back up, balancing her chin on the window ledge and peering at her reflection just over the bottom of the glass pane. Anne lowered her voice now, so that it was barely audible, even in the silent room.

"But that is what scares me so. I couldn't help myself, not with any of it. The feeling just came over me, more irresistible even than the time I just _had_ to pluck Marilla's amethyst brooch from the bureau and try it on. And I wonder, if Gilbert had been unfastening _my_ buttons, when would I have asked him to stop? At three, at four? Or _would _I have asked him to stop? Ooo, that is what frightens me the most. What will happen if the feeling comes over me again, the next time we are alone? Who am I, other-Anne? Everything I had known to be true about my morals and boundaries… with all of that I never accounted for the way Gilbert makes me feel—the way he makes me feel when his fingers and lips slide over my skin."

She shivered as she sat up a little straighter, remembering Gilbert… remembering the feeling of his knee between her thighs, and the warm presence of his body hovering right over her own. And Gilbert—but Gilbert had showed far more restraint than she.

"Did he think me indecent?" she asked herself, while twirling a strand of hair methodically around her fingers, her voice still a quiet whisper. "Did he think me weak? He was the one who resisted, after all. I wonder if he thought me foolish. Although," she reasoned, "he did tell me he _wanted_ to oblige my last request. Oh, but that is not the same as entertaining the idea of it! Gilbert is patient, he always has been! But you, Anne, you are hot-headed and impulsive and _impatient._" She glared at herself as she said the words. "And oh, dearest other-Anne. That is what I am afraid of."

… … …

Anne's cheeks were a little bit redder, her eyes a little more faltering, and her heart a little more restless, when Gilbert stopped by Hallow's End before church the next morning. The previous night's reflections had given her little peace of mind—if anything they had unsettled her more. And as his fingers brushed against her shoulders while he helped her into her sweater, she felt the same shivers as she had the night before. In church, she hardly heard a word of Jonas' sermon, so preoccupied she was with the way Gilbert's arm felt so warm pressed lightly against hers. And as she and Phil prepared luncheon in the kitchen of Hallow's End, she almost burned the lemon sauce, having been so taken with the way Gilbert's booming laugh echoed from the living room where he was conversing with Jonas. And when he leaned in to kiss her goodbye on the front porch, he laughed at the way she trembled before him. He steadied her with his arms, tapped the tip of her perfect nose, and said, "oh Anne-girl, if only I _could_ kiss you the way you are afraid of."

This sentiment Gilbert was to repeat many times throughout Anne's first month at Patterson Street. Indeed, if Anne had been worried about being left alone with Gilbert, she needn't have been. With the business of life, and the fact that someone was nearly always home in both Hart House and Hallow's End, Anne and Gilbert's few moments of solace only came as they wandered the streets of Kingsport, or lingered together at the park by their meeting place. And even then, they weren't _completely _alone.

It was during one such meeting, in mid-October, that Gilbert arrived over the Purcells Bridge to find a very distressed Anne. As he pulled her into his customary embrace, she leaned her head against his chest and let out an aggravated sigh.

"Today was a disaster, Gilbert! Any confidence I had yesterday is completely dashed today. I thought things were going well at the schoolhouse. On Monday, I finally convinced Dottie Willis that she will _not _be punished for writing her multiplication tables incorrectly on her slate, and so she might as well try. And I actually made Bertie Mains laugh yesterday! Sarah Burton advanced to the third reader, and Johnny Hanford passed the fifth-reader fractions quiz after shedding tears about it for the last three weeks. But today—today I will recount as nothing but a failure. I have met my match, Gilbert. I have met my match in the form of a twelve-year-old boy with a pretty face and deceivingly innocent-looking blue eyes."

Well, at least Anne had found something to occupy her thoughts other than Gilbert's touches—or lack of them. Gilbert waited patiently for her to elaborate, while hiding the urge to chuckle. One troubling student, and Anne acted as if the world was coming to ruin. Yet it also showed how passionate she was about her pupils, and for that he kissed her gently on the top of her red head.

"His name is Jonah Clark," Anne said as she pressed her chin into Gilbert's chest and looked up at him, her big gray eyes alive with anguish. "His father lost his job, poor soul, and the entire family has only just moved to Patterson Street, to live with Jonah's aunt. He's been here all of three days, but he is already by far the most stubborn student I have ever encountered! He sits in the back of the room with a scowl on his face, making spitballs with tiny bits of newspaper, and writing crude words on his slate."

"Which you took away, I assume…"

"Of course!" Anne pulled back from Gilbert as she threw both of her hands into the air. "I gave it back to him after school, and I tried talking with him. He hadn't done a lick of anything all week, except a few activities that intrigued him. And he's refused to utter a word in reply to any of my questions in an attempt to get to know him better. I let it slide the first two days… but I was determined to come down hard on him today, now that he has had some time to settle in. '_I wonder,'_ I said to him, '_if you intend to do any work at all in my class? Or are you merely here to keep your desk seat from freezing in winter?'_ Well he simply looked up at me, those brilliant blue eyes slightly narrowed. And do you want to know what he said?"

Gilbert raised his eyebrows, imploring her to continue—not that he would have had any choice in the matter.

"He told me, 'I've never done any work for any teacher, and I don't intend to now. I don't want you to teach me anything. And don't bother giving me any work to do at home, because I won't. You can try talking to my mother, but I don't do anything she tells me to do, either, so you'll only be wasting your time.'"

Anne received her desired response, as Gilbert's jaw dropped slightly. "This Jonah fellow sounds like quite the stubborn lad. Ah, but I suppose that comes with the name," he mused, as he led Anne towards the neighboring park, where they might have a seat on one of its benches.

"I hardly knew what to say to him!" Anne cried, in a tone of voice which indicated inordinate distress. "I knew there was no point in trying to _force_ him to do his work. And so I asked him what he wanted to do with his life, and didn't he think he'd need an education in order to achieve it. He said he didn't know, and that it didn't matter; his father was a poor painter and he was destined to be as well. I tried asking him about his interests but I couldn't discover anything. I asked him if he ever wanted to learn to read a newspaper, or wouldn't he need to use mathematics to know how much paint to mix to cover a building, or discover whether a shopkeeper was cheating him out of his money. He claimed he was smart enough to figure those things out on his own."

"Well I suppose there's no reasoning with him," Gilbert said thoughtfully. "You'll have to resort to something else…"

"You're not suggesting I use the strap!" Anne cried in alarm, remembering a conversation of several years past, back in Avonlea, when Gilbert said—to Anne's horror—that he'd whip a child as a last resort. She, herself, has used it only once, on the obstinate Anthony Pye. And even then it had pained her to do so... she hoped to never resort to such measures again.

"No, nothing like that," Gilbert said with a grin. "I know you'd never be able to work up the nerve to do it again, leastways not on anyone save a Pye."

"Excuse me?" Anne cried in protest. "I could if I wanted to."

"Alright then," Gilbert relented with a tone of clear skepticism. Anne glared at him and he let out a laugh.

"Well _anyway,_ all I meant to say is that you'll think of something—it's _you_," Gilbert said, and he was neither willing nor able to mask the admiration in his voice. "And besides," he added, "it's my opinion that the stubborn ones are all the more satisfying to win over, in the end."

"Oh, maybe so," Anne sighed, oblivious to both the hidden meaning behind Gilbert's words and the tender look in his eyes. "Although if he is as stubborn as _the_ Jonah, it'll take a miracle to change his mind."

"Throw him into the harbor then. There are plenty of whales in the bay."

This earned nothing but narrowed eyes and a stern glare from Anne, who didn't find his joke funny under the circumstances.

"Oh, how I shall win him over, I do not know. It's a shame, really. He is a smart boy, I know he is."

"But you're smarter," said Gilbert thoughtfully. "So… outsmart him."

"If only it were as easy as you make it sound. But yes… I suppose I'll have to think of something. I'm determined to."

… … …

Over the next week, Anne's nightly ruminations had nothing to do with Gilbert and everything to do with Jonah Clark. The boy was true to his word, and did not do any work from his desk in the back of the room. Anne had never encountered a child that she could not win over, but then again, she had never encountered Jonah Clark. And Anne felt she was at her wit's end. Night after night, she racked her brain for a plan, but nothing presented itself, and she began to despair.

Inspiration often strikes us in the unlikeliest of times, and it struck Anne one evening the next week, as she was sitting at the kitchen table of Hallow's End, grading a daunting stack of geometry quizzes that she had given to her students in the fourth and fifth readers. She was in the process of scribbling a note on top of Billy Clay's paper when Phil plopped down on the seat beside her, with a bundle of papers of her own. She gave a little sigh as she picked up the top sheet, rubbing at her forehead as she squinted at it.

"What do you have there?" Anne asked, as she noted the look of discomfort on Phil's face.

"Oh, this silly thing," she said, brandishing the paper. "I'm working on drafting a contract for Jo. He is hiring out a new Sunday School teacher. It's the first time we've had to do it, so I'm having to start from scratch. _You _know I am enormously clever in mathematics, and although I always had exceptional marks in English classes as well, you know it was never exactly my _strongest_ subject. I'm trying to figure out how to go about it."

"Let's have a look then," Anne suggested, as she motioned for Phil to pass it over. "I've signed a contract or two for my teaching positions, and we had to draft a few during my English honors class. So I have some idea of what goes into them."

And so Anne brushed her pile of quizzes to the side and spent the next half hour helping Phil. As they finally looked over the finished product, Anne gave a nod of satisfaction.

"Gee, Anne, you could have penned that out with your eyes closed, you clever little thing!" Phil exclaimed. "If you ever get tired of teaching, you might get a job in a law office, and you can write contracts all day long."

Anne laughed at Philippa, "Indeed, it does seem a rather useless skill in my line of work." But no sooner had the words left her mouth than she let out a small gasp. "Of course!"

And, after quickly excusing herself, she ran out of the room, leaving a very confused Phil at the kitchen table.

… … …

"You seem like a determined young man, Mr. Clark," Anne said the next morning, her face serious and her hands folded neatly on the top of the master's desk. Jonah's beautiful blue eyes stared solemnly back at her, his face equally severe. "After over a week in my class, I can see you are not to be reckoned with. And so, I have decided to submit to your demands."

Jonah's cold reserve faltered a moment, and Anne saw him attempt to blink away his surprise; whatever he had expected her to say, it wasn't this. He brushed a strand of blonde hair away from his forehead.

"Let me see if I have this correct," Anne continued, businesslike. "_You_ refuse to do any class activities. _You _also refuse to do any schoolwork, either in class or at home. And as for _me_, I am not to attempt to teach you anything. Is there anything I missed?"

"Erm, no-o?" he replied, almost as a question. Anne tried not to smile at the look of confusion on his otherwise aloof face. This was something he had certainly never encountered with any previous teacher.

"Right then. I will submit to all of these demands, on one condition: would you be willing to put them into a contract?" Anne stroked the pen laying on the desk, and with her other hand she fingered a blank sheet of paper.

"A-a contract?" Jonah asked, his head cocked slightly to one side.

"Yes, a contract," Anne clarified. "A written agreement between two or more parties, specifying the doing, _or not doing_, of specific tasks, and enforceable by law."

"By law?" Jonah gulped.

"Yes, by law. If you break the contract, the contract is nullified, and you will need to do whatever I tell you to do. Likewise, if _I_ break the contract, the same consequences would apply."

"Oh, well I..." the boy stuttered. His sharp mind was trying—and utterly failing at that—to figure out what trick this strange schoolma'am might possibly be playing on him.

"Unless you don't wish to sign it. If that be the case, I must ask you to return to your desk and open your reader to page twenty-nine. Go on then—"

"No," Jonah interrupted. "I'd like to sign a contract."

"Excellent!" Anne said jovially, as she pulled the sheet of paper towards her and readied her pen. "Oh, and we'll need a witness. Did you have anyone in mind?" Jonah only stared at her. "No matter… Lawrence!" Anne called, and the boy in question approached the desk.

"Jonah and I are signing a contract, Lawrence, and I am requesting for you to be our witness. Do you consent to uphold the duties of witness, and will you willingly attest to the veracity of the events which are about to take place?"

Lawrence nodded slowly, even if he had no clue what was going on, and Anne read aloud as she wrote: "This agreement, dated this eightteenth day of October, 1887, is made by and between Miss Anne Shirley, who will hereby be referred to as 'teacher' and Mr. Jonah Clark, who will hereby be referred to as 'pupil.'" Anne looked up at the boy, wordlessly seeking his approval. He gulped and nodded, and she continued on.

"List of items:

"1. Pupil is not to participate in any class activities.

"2. Pupil is not to be complete any school-work, either in class or at home.

"3. Teacher is not to attempt to teach pupil.

"Am I missing anything?" Anne asked, as she wrote out the final line and looked up at her wide-eyed adversary. Wordlessly, he shook his head.

"Right then," and she continued to mark the paper, "I have a demand of my own:

"4. Pupil is not to distract any schoolmates from doing their own learning.

"Do you agree to the abovementioned statements?"

Jonah nodded hesitantly, still feeling that there must be some catch to this strange deal, but being unable to figure out exactly what that catch may be. Anne looked back down at her paper and continued to write. "By signing below, all parties agree to adhere to the abovementioned items, for a period of time extending to a year from today." Anne then signed her name at the bottom of the page, before passing the paper to Jonah and beckoning him to do the same. With raised eyebrows, and still every bit as confused as ever, he took the pen from Anne and scribbled his name below her own. "And now the witness," Anne stated, and a confused Lawrence signed the paper as well. Anne then took the contract and pinned it against the wall with a thumbtack.

"Alright then, first things first," she said as she surveyed Jonah with her hands on her hips. She walked past him and strode to his desk; he followed her silently. "I'll need you to give me your reader, along with any accompanying books."

"You want my reader?" Jonah asked, in awe.

"Yes, of course I'll need your reader! I'm not to teach you anything, and in supplying you with your reader, I am at risk of doing exactly that. I'd like to avoid nullifying the contract so quickly, as I'm sure you will understand."

A very perplexed Jonah handed Anne his reader and books.

"Oh, and your slate. Just think of all the learning one can do, if they are allowed to practice on their slate!" she said with an exaggerated air. And so the slate was handed over as well, and the poor boy was left with nothing atop his desk except his own two hands.

Anne was true to her word for the rest of the day. She did not ask Jonah to do anything at all, and by the end of it the boy sat lazily in his seat, with his bright-yellow head laying on top of his arms, thinking that perhaps Miss Shirley _didn't_ have any clever tricks up her sleeve, and perhaps he had gotten his way after all. He laughed to himself—how easy it had been! But then again, Jonah Clark always got his way. But Anne hadn't had her say yet.

The next morning, Anne arrived to the schoolhouse with a basket under her arm. She set it on her desk, allowing the students to speculate for a good hour as to what was inside. A pleasing aroma wafted from within, and by ten o'clock, they were practically pleading with her to show them its contents. The contents, they soon discovered, were forty perfectly baked chocolate muffins. The students gasped and licked their lips as Anne showed them to the class.

"I thought you'd enjoy these," she said with a smile. "You'll have to earn them, however." This was followed by a collective groan from the students. "We're going to play a game of hot potato. We'll pass one muffin at a time around the room, while reciting our spelling words. When the muffin gets to you, you must say the next letter in the word. If you miss it, you lose the round, and the person before you gets to keep the muffin, having been the last person to get a letter correct. They get to leave the circle and eat the spoils of their victory. Are the rules clear?"

The students murmured their agreement, and they all rose from their desks and formed a circle—which was more accurately a square—in the center of the room.

"Oh no, Jonah, I'm afraid you must stay in your seat," Anne said solemnly, as the boy attempted to join the class. "You're not to participate in _any_ class activities. You are free to reference your contract if you have any questions; it's posted at the front of the room." And with that she turned her gaze from him. She didn't need to see him to know that his face had fallen into a frown; she could imagine it just the same in her head. At the end of the game, as expected, there was one perfect, chocolatey muffin left. Anne ignored the pleading look in Jonah's eyes, and suggested she take it home to give to Mrs. Blake, who had helped—or more accurately, hindered—her in their preparation the night before.

Things only got worse for Jonah as the week continued. Anne designed a perfectly glorious scavenger hunt for plants and insects in the manse garden, from which Jonah was excluded. Another day, she split the students into teams, and they acted out their vocabulary words in a game of charades. The entire class was in stitches by the end of the lesson, but all Jonah carried was a sour expression. By the end of the week, Anne could see his discontent growing, even if he didn't show it. And so it was then that she made her final move, to cement her victory.

On Friday morning, she informed the students that they would be taking a field trip to the harbor shore, where one of the church members had agreed to show the students his boat and all its equipment. The prospect of a trip to the harbor was tantalizing to the students, and excitement was high. As they filed excitedly out of the class, Anne pulled Jonah aside. "I'm afraid you can't come with us, my dear, this being a school activity and all… and so I've arranged for you to spend the afternoon with Mrs. Blake at the manse." Anne then ushered him out of the room and went to lock the door.

"But I—" Jonah stuttered from beside her. She turned and saw tears threatening to fall from his long blonde lashes. He cast his face downwards, trying to hide them. "I want to come," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry, Jonah, but it's in your contract. No school activities," Anne said matter-of-factly.

"I didn't realize—" Jonah said quickly, then stopped himself out of embarrassment. He ran a hand through his hair.

"Unless you'd like to amend your contract," Anne said as an aside, as she began to stride toward the rest of the class, who were huddled at the gate.

"What?" Jonah asked, jogging to catch up. She looked back at him over her shoulder and saw the hopeful expression on his face.

"Yes, an amendment. An alteration in the statements of your contract. Any contract can be amended, if all parties are willing."

"Oh, er, yes. I'd like an amed...amen..."

"Amendment," Anne clarified, before pretending to contemplate for a moment. "I suppose I can consent to that, Mr. Clark." And with that she unlocked the schoolhouse and strode back to her desk, pulling out a new sheet of paper.

"We will amend the contract," she said in her usual businesslike tone, as she began to brush the pen over the paper. And she read aloud: "Both teacher and pupil agree to retract first clause of initial contract. Pupil agrees to participate in all school activities. Anything learned during said activities will have no bearing on the third statement of the abovementioned contract, which requires teacher not to teach pupil."

"_All _activities?" Jonah complained.

"All," Anne clarified. "That is my offer to you. You may accept my offer, or accompany me to the manse."

"Fine," Jonah shrugged. And with that, both parties signed the amendment, and so the first item of the contract was removed.

… … …

Jonah was smart, but Anne was smarter. He was now able to participate in activities, but he was still not made to do any schoolwork. With no slate to write on, and no books to distract his eyes, he was becoming increasingly bored in class. He might have used his free time to chat with fellow students and play pranks on the girls—but even this he could not do, for any time he so much as spoke to another student during class time, Anne raised her eyebrows at him and tapped the contract hanging on the wall, which stated he was not allowed to distract classmates from doing their work.

Anne knew that dear, stubborn Jonah was quite thoroughly trapped. All she needed was a way to drive him to admit that he not only wanted to participate in activities, but wanted to do schoolwork as well. One thing Anne knew from personal experience was that stubborn people were most always competitive people, too. And so she decided to use this in her favor. She immediately started a new daily routine, "slate games," that took place as a reprieve from their readers. Prizes, in the form of candies, apples, lead pencils, and other small treats were always given. They played word games and drawing games and math games, but seeing as Jonah had no slate and no reader, at the risk of his "learning something," he was never allowed to partake. He sat in his desk with a scowl plastered on his face, and he made fun of the other students after school for enjoying such "silly nonsense," yet still Anne often saw him craning his head to look at a fellow student's slate, and this she happily ignored.

And so the days passed. Games aside, Jonah began to discover that doing "nothing" was actually very boring. Anne only needed the perfect idea—something that would serve as the last straw in his discontent. It came one Monday afternoon.

"We are going to have a writing contest," announced Anne at the end of the day, just before dismissing the students. "You are to each write a story—a fictional story that is all your own, about anything you like. You'll write your names on the back of your papers, so I don't know which student has written which story, and I'll choose one winner from each reader-level to attend a tea party at the manse, where I will teach everyone how to make _real_ ice cream."

The students gasped at Anne's proposal, and several "oohs" emanated from around her. Anne was fairly confident that not a single student on Patterson Street had ever tasted _real_ ice cream, and they reacted as if she had promised to give them each twenty dollars. She fully intended to invite the entire class for the party, but they didn't need to know that just yet. Even Jonah Clark's eyes were widened in anticipation.

"Your assignment for the evening is to decide what you'd like to write about. Come up with a plan of sorts, and tomorrow morning we will write our stories."

There was a flutter of excitement as the students left the schoolhouse that afternoon. Everyone spoke animatedly of the tea party—everyone except Jonah. Anne saw his slumped shoulders and downcast fast as he made his way out the door, yet all she could do when she saw this was smile. He was in the belly of the whale now. He was having his own veritable Jonah day; this she knew for sure.

The next morning, Anne sat at her desk as she waited for the first of the students to arrive. When she heard the door open at half-past eight, she looked up from the assignment she was grading, and was not at all surprised to find Jonah Clark step gingerly through it.

"Good morning. You're here unusually early this morning, Jonah," Anne said, as she glanced at him over the top of her work. "Is something bothering you?"

Jonah approached the desk and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Well I, I… I was wondering if I might be able to participate in the writing assignment? I thought maybe you could consider it a class activity, being a contest and all." Jonah looked at the floor, trying to keep Anne from seeing the longing in his eyes. He had always wanted to taste ice cream—real ice cream! And so he wanted desperately to be included in the contest.

"I'm afraid not, Jonah. Writing, with pencil and paper, is schoolwork. You aren't allowed to do any schoolwork, don't you remember?" She motioned to the piece of paper hanging behind her.

"I thought so," the boy said grimly. "Well then, my second question is… well I was wondering if I might request another amendment to my contract." Jonah looked up at Anne this time, holding her keen stare.

"An amendment?" Anne asked, cocking her head to the side in feigned surprise. "I thought you were perfectly satisfied with the terms of our agreement? You created them, after all."

"Er, yes, well.. I'd like to do the writing assignment…"

"I see," Anne said slowly. "You actually want to write." Jonah said nothing, but merely nodded. "Well I'm perfectly willing to amend the second clause in your contract. But you know the rules, Jonah. If I allow you to participate in _one_ assignment, you must participate in _all_ assignments."

Jonah thought Anne's proposition over for a moment. "I suppose that wouldn't be so bad," he reasoned. In truth, he was bored to death in class; he had only been too stubborn to admit it. He knew this, and little did he know, Anne knew it as well.

"Alright then," Anne said as she wrote out the amendment. "Although, Jonah, even if you _do_ win the contest, you'll have to leave the room when we make the ice cream."

"Hmm?" Jonah asked, his face falling as he forgot to hold his reserved countenance.

"Well it says here in the third clause that I'm not allowed to teach you anything. And I believe a demonstration in making ice cream would fall under that category, would you agree?"

"I suppose…" he said, defeat in his voice. Anne saw a tear begin to brim at the corner of his eye.

"Would you like to amend _that_ clause as well, Jonah?" Anne said, a bit more softly this time.

"I, I suppose that would be fine," he said quietly, in a voice filled with relief he couldn't quite contain.

"Very well. Well then, Jonah, I see we have amended all of your initial requests. With that being said, would you would like to terminate the contract entirely? If so, you are effectively agreeing to participate in all school activities, and to complete all schoolwork assigned to you."

Jonah hesitated a minute, but he realized he had been defeated. He was clever, but Miss Shirley was cleverer. But in that way she had finally earned his respect. She was, indeed, nothing like any of his previous schoolma'ams.

"Alright then," he consented. And so a termination was drawn up and signed by both parties, and in that moment Jonah, essentially, exited the belly of the own little whale.

… … …

"You know," said Gilbert, as Anne recounted the day's events that night, from their favorite bench in the park by the Purcells Bridge, "I think it's safe to say that _you_, Miss Shirley, were violating that contract each and every day of its existence."

"How so?" Anne asked defensively, as she brought her head up from his shoulder and looked at him inquisitively.

"Well, what was that third clause? You weren't allowed to _teach_ him anything? Well, I think it's safe to say that over the past three weeks, you have slowly but surely been teaching him the most valuable lesson of his short life."

Anne thought about that a moment, then smiled. "I suppose you are right, Gilbert. Just don't go telling him that."

* * *

><p><em>*This is a reference to this story's prequel: Around the Bend.<em>

_AN: Thanks as always for reading. I hope you enjoyed another school episode. I'd love to hear if that is the case!_

_*Oh, and an astute reader may notice that I changed the third chapter's title from diamonds to pearls… Lilies pointed it out and the more I thought about it, the more I thought "duh, of course it would be pearls!" So pardon my tweaking! Much love and happiest of New Years to all!_


	6. Bittersweet

**Chapter 6: Bittersweet**

Anne lay awake in her bed one Saturday morning in early December. The soft golden rays peeking in through the frosted window signified a new day; normally she would have smiled at their warmth as they fell upon her face, but rather, all she felt was annoyance, for they had woken her from the most pleasant of dreams.

And just as anyone who is trying to remember a dream, Anne kept her eyes shut fast, trying to engrave every possible detail into her memory, as they seemed to fade away like wisps of cloud through her fingertips. She had been standing in a meadow—no, a garden… small yet unnaturally beautiful; the perfume of bursting blossoms filled the air and overwhelmed her as she breathed the scent in greedily. And as she walked down the little dirt path she had reached out her hands; the flowers stretched their colorful heads to caress her fingertips, for they were her flowers, and the house was _her _house—her house of dreams.

Only the house had been missing something—some crucial piece that would make it the home she longed for, and not just another beautiful cottage grown out of the countryside; for all the blossoms and beautiful things of the world paled in comparison to having _this_. She had raised her hand to shadow her face as she peered throughout the garden, looking for that missing ingredient that would make her fantasy complete. And then he was there; suddenly she felt two warm arms encircle her from behind, as a whiskery face brushed against her cheek and nestled itself into the crook of her neck. She turned around and those arms wrapped her up closely; Gilbert's face smiled down at her. Now the dream was perfect.

And before she could lean up to kiss those perfect upturned lips, he had whisked her off around the garden, waltzing and spinning her in circles. They had laughed and giggled as they swept around the lawn, both reveling in the bliss of being alone, in a home that was theirs and theirs alone. A sweet sense of freedom hung in the air, more fragrant than even the blossoms were, and Anne's heart felt lighter than the breeze which rustled the leaves of the trees. Gilbert was hers and she was his—not a boundary or wall, neither literal or figurative, separated her from him now. With one last motion Gilbert brought Anne's arm up in a twirl, and when he pulled her back to himself they collided, landing together in a heap on the soft earth. And the next thing Anne knew, Gilbert had crawled over her, his body warm as it pressed her softly into the earth, and he had kissed her deeply as he ran his hands up her body, past her thighs and hips and chest. And next they were at the buttons of her shirt… with a satisfying "plip" he began to unfasten them. One, two, three…

But then she had awoken. And there was no Gilbert next to her—only bedsheets, cold with the chill of a morning on the cusp of winter. She was alone in her room, and with a sinking feeling she remembered that she would stay that way, not just tomorrow or the next day, but through two more winters after the one which approached. Eyes still closed, her smile turned into a frown. He would feel so warm, if he lay next to her now, and together they might have shut out the cold of the morning.

But there was no Gilbert to snuggle into, and so, finally submitting to the sun's persistent gleam, she sat up and rubbed at her eyes, squinting in the bright light. And as she opened them they fell upon something hanging from the back of her desk chair—Gilbert's coat. She smiled as she remembered how it had gotten there. They had been sitting on the back porch of Hallow's End the night before, watching the sun set behind the treetops and enjoying a rare moment of solace. A brisk wind blew through the air, and little had Anne known that she was shivering, so preoccupied she was with the fact that the setting sun meant Gilbert must leave soon.

"Look at you, darling, your arms are covered with more bumps than a goose itself," he had joked, as he rubbed at both of her arms with his hands. "Perhaps I should bid my farewell; I wouldn't want you to catch a cold."

"No!" Anne had cried, perhaps a bit too forcefully. "Don't go, Gil. Stay with me another half hour at least. I'll be alright."

And so as a compromise, Gilbert had removed his coat and placed it over Anne's shoulders; soon after, the shivering stopped. Anne had delighted in the smell of wool, combined with the smell of _him_; it was almost as if she was wrapped up in Gilbert himself—and a few minutes later she nearly _was_ wrapped up in Gilbert, as his hands and lips had filled her with a completely different type of warmth. And in that moment, as his body hovered over her own, all she had really wanted was for him to take the coat back off of her, so she might be that much closer to him.

Eventually Gilbert did have to go home, and he would continue going home, after every single visit, for the next few years. And as Anne sat alone in her bedroom, staring at his coat and thinking about this, she was filled with equal parts emptiness and longing. The longer she sat there, the more keenly she felt his absence, until she felt she could stay there no longer. And so she pulled some stockings over her cold feet, wrapped herself up in a blanket, and crept downstairs.

Twenty minutes later, Anne sat on the couch with a book—she was careful to make sure it was _not_ a romance—and a hot cup of tea. She was trying in vain to decide whether Jasper was behind the kidnapping of the Queen's handmaiden, or rather his cousin Bartholomew, when she heard a thud come from directly above her—from Phil and Jo's room. Filled with curiosity and hoping that nothing was the matter, she set the book down and stepped lightly up the stairs to investigate, her blanket still wrapped around her shoulders.

"Jonas Blake, don't you dare!" came Phil's bubbly voice from down the hall.

"Shh!" she heard Jonas urge. Anne took a few more steps forward, as her eyebrows pressed together in confusion. There was a bit of commotion from inside their room; Phil let out a small shriek and then began to giggle uncontrollably. There was more movement, and then Anne began to hear _other_ sounds… sounds of rustling sheets and sighs and labored breathing. Upon hearing a strained "Oh, Jo!" from Phil, Anne turned on her heels and crept as quickly as possible back down the stairs, realizing she really ought not eavesdrop any further on such a private moment.

Yet as she cozied herself back up on the sofa, it wasn't long before she began to notice it—the sound of faint, rhythmic thumps above her. She tried to ignore it, turning her attentions back to her book. Yet she simply could not concentrate on Jasper's evil plot as the noises continued. She could not take it anymore, for not only had it rendered reading impossible, but also a feeling that seemed strangely like jealousy began to well up inside her, and she felt that she might let out a cry of her own if she stayed there another minute.

She rushed back up the stairs and into her room, all-too-aware of Phil's hushed cries of bliss from across the landing. She hastily shoved her feet into a pair of boots and, being too hurried to browse through her wardrobe, grabbed Gilbert's coat from the chair. Then she rushed back down the stairs and out of the house, still wrapping it around her as she made her way into the cold morning air. She paused to lace up her boots, then took off for a stroll around the garden; her breath came out in sharp puffs while her boots crunched against the ground, which was covered with a thin layer of frost. Anne shook her head to rid herself of the thoughts that now swirled through her mind, but it was no use.

As much as Anne loved Phil, and was happy for her joy, all she could think of was how much she wanted what her friend had—to wake up in the morning and find _Gilbert_ next to her... to have _him_ be the first thing she saw... to laugh and joke with him before even getting out of bed; the thought was intoxicating! She closed her eyes and imagined him—his curly hair disheveled, his eyes groggy, and a sleepy smile spread across his face as he beckoned her towards him. She shivered gleefully at the vision, but imagining it was nothing compared to seeing it for herself.

And merely sharing a room with Gilbert did not adequately account for the longing Anne felt inside. There was also that feeling that overcame her each time he kissed her, filling her with a thrill of anticipation and a sweet, sweet fear for what might follow, chilling her very spine. Desire would come over them both like a wave, yet instead of giving in to that desire, they would need to be wary; they had to know when—and how—to stop themselves, lest things get out of hand. Anne longed for the day that they might wrap themselves shamelessly with their craving for each other and follow it wherever it led.

Anne turned now and made her way around the side of the manse. As she walked, the memory of Phil's muffled moans filled her head, try as she might to shut them out. She wondered what such a feeling might entail—a feeling that might entice such sounds from her own lips, and Gilbert's as well. And as she thought about it, she grew more anxious and uncomfortable. She and Gilbert loved each other every bit as much as Phil and Jo. It seemed cruel that they should be unable to express that love in the same way. For what, really, made them so different? Yet so were the rules of the world, and the more Anne thought about them, the more they began to lose all meaning. As she rounded the front of Hallow's End, she collapsed on the porch steps. Her eyes began to water and a tear slipped down her cheek—the skin it touched felt warm one instant and then icy-cold the next.

"I've always liked you in black, although I think it's a bit big for you."

Anne's head shot up at the sound of Gilbert's voice. There he was, approaching her from down the garden path, as if the intensity of her thoughts had summoned him. Anne flushed when she saw him, for her ruminations of only seconds ago were still at the forefront of her mind. She turned away for a moment, pretending to let out a sneeze, as she hastily wiped the tears from her cheek with his coat sleeve.

"Well, it may be big but it's warm," countered Anne as she stood and mustered up a smile. "I'm only wearing it because I left the house in a hurry."

"I can see that," Gilbert laughed. He swallowed hard as he beheld her… he wasn't sure if it was the way her hair fell across her shoulder in a hastily-done braid, or the fact that her nightdress was peeking out from below his coat—_his coat!—_but the whole vision was irresistible to him. Anne's cheeks reddened as she realized her state of undress, which only added to the picture.

She hesitated slightly when Gilbert stepped forward to pull her into a hug, knowing there were no undergarments to separate her from him—nothing but the thin fabric of her nightdress and wool of his coat. But she gave in anyway, and as he pressed her to himself, his chest felt even warmer and softer and _closer_ than ever before; the feeling was as unreal as it was perfect.

Gilbert had to suppress a small start of surprise when their bodies met. Of course he should have realized she was wearing no corset, but he knew little of women's undergarments, let alone what they wore at night, and the thought hadn't crossed his mind. He could feel the outline of Anne against him where her chest met with his; what was usually hard and stiff was soft and supple, and it was no small coincidence that this embrace lasted longer than most.

When he finally drew back, he gave her the sweetest of kisses and looked into her eyes, which were rimmed with red.

"Oh, but this is no good. You've been crying, Anne… is everything alright? And does that have to do with why you are outside with naught but your nightdress and my coat to protect you from the cold?"

Anne gave a small sniff as her nose began to run, due in part to her tears, and also to the cold air. By all rights she should have been embarrassed for Gilbert to find her that way, both improperly dressed and emotionally distraught. Yet she felt no such sentiment; it was Gilbert after all. Instead she felt thankful for the comfort of his presence. But could she admit to him the true reason for her tears?

"Perhaps we should head inside, Anne…"

"No, Gil," insisted Anne, worried that perhaps Phil and Jonas might _still_ be making noise from the bedroom. "We shouldn't Gilbert… I…. well I'm outside because…" She paused here. Would it be insensitive to Phil, to betray to him the events of the morning?

"Oh, it's just…" she stammered, as Gilbert eyed her quizzically. "Phil and Jo are… well I thought I'd just leave them to themselves…"

Gilbert raised an eyebrow and cocked his head, a roguish grin spreading across his face. He read the uncomfortable look in Anne's eyes and his suspicions were confirmed. A moment later he burst into a rage of laughter; his arms shook against her as his chest rocked with spasms. He gathered himself for a moment and looked at Anne, and he pressed his lips together to prevent another bubble bursting from his throat.

"Thin walls, eh?" he managed to utter. With that he was overtaken once again, and Anne began to laugh, too.

"I suppose it is rather funny," she giggled, although I didn't see it that way at the time. Gilbert took her hand and pulled her up the porch steps to the wicker loveseat by the door. She was already feeling a little bit better, and Gilbert hadn't even been there three minutes.

"Oh Gilbert, it was horrible!" she blurted out, unable to hold it in any longer. "First they were laughing, and there was such a terrible commotion, and then all of a sudden, they got very quiet… and I felt I was listening to a giant grandfather clock ticking in double-time…"

Gilbert began to laugh again. He grabbed at the end of Anne's braid and tweaked it against her nose.

"Well it certainly must have been awkward, if it managed to make you flee the house," he said with a smile. "But it doesn't explain those tears..."

"Oh, yes, well… it just... " How could she explain these feelings to Gilbert—these feelings that had so very much to do with him! Was it strange to speak to a lover of such things? Just then, Gilbert placed a thumb under her chin while his fingers cupped her face; he tilted her head up in order to meet her gaze.

"Tell me what's wrong, Anne-girl." And when she saw his eyes, full of love and gentle concern, she knew that in fact she _could _tell him all, for once again, he was _Gilbert._

"Oh Gil, I couldn't bear it! I was jealous, that's what!" Anne cried, and simply saying the words out loud made her feel a tiny bit better. "If you had only heard them; all I could think about was the _freedom _of it. There were no boundaries, no restraint. And I hate that we cannot be that way, Gilbert."

"I know, Anne." And Gilbert did know. He knew it just as well as Anne, if not better, but he had kept his feelings to himself; he wanted to be strong for her.

"And it's more than that," Anne continued. "When I'm with you, Gil, I'm so completely happy. But that's just the thing… each day we spend together, at the end of it you have to leave. But Jo and Phil… they get to see each other when they wake, and when they go to sleep. She gets to take care of him, and cook him his meals, and bring him a glass of water when he's working in the study, or a towel in the bath. And I want that!" And before Anne could stop herself, she felt hot tears escaping her eyes once again. "I'm so truly happy for Phil... and for Diana, and Jane, and Alice, and all of them! But I… I want what they have, Gilbert. Don't you?"

Gilbert's voice was quiet when he spoke next. "Of course I do, Anne. I think about it every day—every hour." And despite Anne's discomfort, he was filled with a quiet sense of joy, to hear her confess that she wanted him in the same way he wanted her. "And it pains me as much as it pains you."

Anne was relieved to hear Gilbert's confession—it made her feel just a little less selfish, to know he was thinking these things, too. "It made me wonder," she continued quietly, "What makes us so different from Phil and Jo, or any of them? They are in love, and so are we. They plan to be together forever, and so do we. They are devoted to each other; they want a life and family together, every bit as much as we do. And so what is the difference?"

"There isn't any difference, Anne, not really," he said softly. "I've known that for a long time. But in the eyes of the world, and of the church, there _is_ a difference."

"Yes," Anne agreed, "although I'd think God would be above caring for things so trivial as a ceremony and a certificate." And as Anne said the words she immediately felt guilty, for they fairly screamed of blasphemy!

"Now, that's not like you, to act so bitterly towards the institution of marriage."

"That's just it," Anne sighed. "I'm bitter. Tomorrow I may feel that all is right and good with the world, but just for today, let me be bitter." She leaned her head upon his chest, and Gilbert brought a hand up to stroke the hair on the top of her head.

"It's alright for you to feel bitter, Anne, for a time. Hiding the feeling away would only magnify it," he reassured her.

"I needed that, Gil. Thank you," said Anne quietly. She gave a small sniff and took his free hand in her own, stroking his palm with her fingertips.

"And I'd like you to know, Anne, that it isn't only you who feels frustrated. You words are the echo of my very thoughts. And as for me… I find it helps to imagine that years from now, we'll look back and it won't matter whether we waited three months or three years to be married. Because we _will_ be married, and I plan to be married for a very long time… so long that we'll hardly remember that wait of long ago."

Anne smiled at his comforting words. Then she closed her eyes against him and let out a heavy sigh. "I hadn't realized," she said softly, "how hard this would be."

"_I had_," Gilbert thought, yet all he said was, "I'm sorry to make you wait so long, Anne."

"Don't ever feel guilty for that," she said seriously. It was a long time to wait, yet in becoming a doctor Gilbert was securing their future, not to mention fulfilling one of his dearest dreams.

They sat that way a while, with Anne's head against Gilbert's chest, while he held her in his arms. After a few minutes Gilbert spoke. "And there is one good thing in all this, Anne."

"Hmm?" she asked, lifting her head and looking at him.

"Well, it's a good thing you rejected me the first time. Otherwise the wait would have been _five_ years, and I'd have hated to put you through _that._"

Anne first impulse was to give him a good slap on the wrist at such a statement, yet before she knew it she had burst into laughter. The tightness in her chest began to loosen, and she marveled at Gilbert's uncanny ability to cheer her up, whatever came her way.

… … …

The following Saturday morning, Anne perched herself on the sofa once again, wrapped up in her blanket and immersed in the same book as before. Yet this morning, to her great relief, all remained quiet upstairs. Jonas emerged early and left to make a house-call, mentioning to Anne that Phil was still asleep. This came as no surprise—Phil had been sleeping in later and later throughout the past month. Anne couldn't remember the last time Phil had arisen before she left for the schoolhouse at eight thirty. But then again, Anne had never deemed the morning to be Phil's favorite time of day.

By the time Phil finally appeared downstairs, Anne had moved to the kitchen table, where she was writing out a lesson for the following Monday.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Anne smiled, as Phil entered the room. Yet Phil only slumped clumsily into a chair and laid her head down on the table. "Is everything alright?" Anne asked, glancing up and setting down her pen.

"Not feeling well," Phil groaned. "Thought a cup of tea might help but now I'm not really feeling up for it…"

"I'll get it for you, dearie," Anne declared, as she jumped from her seat and rushed to fill the kettle.

"Thank you," Phil sighed. Her face looked pale, and Anne could tell by her voice that she really wasn't feeling well at all.

Once the water was heating, Anne installed Phil on the couch, covered in a blanket and propped up against two plump white pillows. Then she ran back to the kitchen to tend to the singing kettle.

"Perhaps I should fetch Jo," Anne suggested, as she crossed the room and set a saucer on the table. "He'll want to know you aren't well—"

"No," Phil insisted flatly. "It's nothing to bother him about, I'll be fine in an hour or two."

"You know no such thing for certain, Philippa," Anne countered. She was surprised at Phil's insistence that Jo not be disturbed, seeing as the girl enjoyed being the center of attention, regardless of the type. "It could be serious—"

"You are too sweet, Anne," Phil said weakly, "but I promise I'll be fine. Just let me rest an hour, then I'll let you fetch him if need be..."

"Come now Phil, you can be too headstrong for your own good sometimes—"

"I won't tell you where he went, anyway," Phil interrupted with a tone of finality.

"You are one for stubbornness, Philippa Blake!"

"You're one to talk, Anne Shirley." This evoked a small smile from both girls.

"Fine then," Anne conceded, seeing she had no other choice, "one hour. But afterwards you will tell me where Jonas has run off to, so I may fetch him." She fixed Phil with a stern look.

"Alright, Queen Anne," Phil sighed. And five minutes later she was fast asleep; her unladylike snores filled the room.

It was a long hour for Anne. Once again, she found it impossible to concentrate on the evil plots of Jasper—or was Bartholomew behind it all?—as she was worried over the health of her friend. When an hour had finally passed, Phil was still sleeping so soundly that Anne couldn't bear to disturb her from her rest. And so she put herself to resuming her work in the kitchen while she waited. A full two hours had passed by the time she heard rustling from the living room.

"How are you feeling, Phil?" Anne asked as she reentered the room. She was surprised to see Phil sitting upright and stretching out her arms.

"I feel infinitely better, although I shan't be up for eating anything just yet," Phil said, while rubbing her stomach lightly. Anne eyed her friend skeptically.

"Are you in earnest, Philippa?" she asked. Phil stared back and smiled.

"I promise I am, dearest of Anne's. Well, I suppose the cat's out of the bag, and now is as good a time as ever to tell you my news." A smile curled the ends of Phil's crooked mouth. Anne gazed at her; she had an inkling as to just what sort of news might herald such an introduction, but she restrained herself, not wanting to cause some scene of disappointment, should it not be the case. Phil gazed back at Anne while enjoying, as always, the satisfaction of being the bearer of important information.

"I've been holding it in these past several weeks… I wanted to be absolutely sure, but now I think I might as well come out with it—" she paused again, reveling in Anne's rapt attention.

"Oh, Phil!" Anne cried, Phil's statement only further confirming her suspicions. But then she put a hand over her mouth to quiet herself, not wanting to rob her friend of the opportunity to deliver such splendid news herself. She gazed at Phil with wide eyes, waiting.

"Of course _you've_ already guessed it; you're nearly as clever as I am, after all, but let me put you at ease once and for all. I'm expecting!" And the squeals of delight just then, from both women, could surely have been heard from the street. Anne hugged Phil as fiercely as she dared, then pulled back and beamed at her.

"How wonderful for you and Jo!" she exclaimed. "But you are a sneaky one, Miss Philippa Blake. How long have you suspected this?"

"Almost two months now," Phil fairly bragged. "It wasn't easy, considering I've been sick two mornings out of three, I keep feeling dog tired in the middle of the day, not to mention I've had the most terrible craving for jerked beef."

"Jerked beef!"

"It is quite odd, isn't it!" Phi said with a giggle. "Anyhow, I feel confident you'll confess all your secrets to me from now on, given how well I've kept this one."

"You sly little fox!" Anne cried, as she joined Phil on the couch and pinched her on the cheek.

"As I said, I wanted to be absolutely certain… to own the truth, I was beginning to get worried, Anne. We've been married since June, and I thought maybe something was wrong..."

"Oh Phil, that is such a burden to bear. Although I understand why you might have kept it to yourself." She gave Phil a pat on the shoulder.

"I do put on a pretty good face, don't I Anne?" Phil said proudly. "Yes, I was frightened as the months began to pass, but I suppose I was also relieved in part—I wasn't sure I was ready. But Anne, now that he—or she—is here," Phil touched her stomach, "none of that matters. I know I'll be ready... I'll have to be."

Phil looked down at her stomach as she rubbed it, and Anne was fascinated by that tender, loving look that could only ever be found in a mother's eyes. Yet despite the joy that hung in the air, a few tears began to spill down Phil's face.

"Oh goodness, I'm crying aren't I," Phil said with a sniff. "It's no matter, Anne. Lately it seems I am always crying about something or other. I'm just so happy." She let out a small laugh as she wiped her eyes. Anne reached for her hand and squeezed it.

"It is rather silly to think of though, isn't it!" Phil exclaimed as she looked over at Anne. "Little old me, a mother!"

"And you will be a wonderful one at that, I am sure of it," Anne said truthfully, and she pulled Phil into another hug.

… … …

As night came over Kingsport once again, Anne sat cross-legged on her bed, brushing through her hair and thinking over the day, as was her nightly ritual. She was filled with happiness over Phil's news. She thought back to the Phil she had met four years ago—the Phil who had tried in vain to choose between Alec and Alonzo… the Phil who swore she could only marry a man with "heaps of money"... the Phil who claimed it wasn't in her to truly fall in love with anyone. Well, they'd both had a lot to learn back then. And the next moment, Anne smiled, as she imagined a small child running through the manse garden, with Jonas' silvery blonde hair and sea green eyes, accompanied by Philippa's crooked smile. What a beautiful manifestation of their love for each other; her heart nearly burst from delight for her friend.

And then, as was inevitable, Anne's thoughts turned to her own future. Her stomach was filled with a flutter of excitement at the prospect of having a child with Gilbert one day. She imagined looking down at her lap and seeing Gilbert's hazel eyes staring back out at her, from the face of a baby boy. And of course he would inherit Gilbert's dark hair as well, for she could never wish her awful red on anyone. But perhaps he would have her nose and smile. Her heart began to beat wildly at the thought.

Yet she was also filled, once again, with a sense of sadness and longing. Anne had looked forward to motherhood ever since she could remember, and she was ready now. She was ready to be Gilbert's wife, and the mother of his child. And once again, she cursed her impatience. She scolded herself, once again, for the discontent she felt at the long wait ahead. Providence had blessed her beyond even her wildest dreams as a child, when she'd had neither a family nor a place to belong. It seemed ungrateful of her to feel bitter now. For what, truly, did she have to feel bitter about? And so Anne took a deep breath and imagined those undesired feelings seeping out of her heart, exiting her body through her fingertips and toes. A soft sense of peace began to drift over her. And that would be enough, for now.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Phil and Jo in the bedroom… it may not be very "Maud," but I'm not here to write Windy Willows am I… I'm here to re-write it, and have a bit of fun :) Much love to all, as usual. Thank you for all the kind words and reviews, and especially if I couldn't respond to you in person, know that they were taken right to heart.<em>

_As proud of myself as I am for such a quick update, I'm sorry to say there won't be a repeat for the next chapter. I'll be out of town all next week, so look for me some time after that. And now I wonder, is anyone in the mood for some Avonlea?_


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